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7
My father's a hedger and ditcher
My mother does nothing but spin
And I am a pretty young girl,
But the money comes slowly in.
And it's oh dear, &c.
They says I am beauteous and fair;
They say I am scornful and bold;
Alas! I must now despair,
For oh! I am grown very old.
And it's oh dear, &c.
But now I must die an old maid,
Oh dear hew shocking the thought,
And all my beauty must fade,
For I'm sure it's no my own fault.
And it's oh dear &c.
I WOULD IF I WAS NOT SO YOUNG.
⟨In⟩ my holiday gown, and my new fashion’d hat,
last monday I went to the fair,
⟨I⟩ held up my head, and I'll tell you for what,
young Roger I guess'd would be there:
He woo’s me to marry, whenever we meet'
