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Ah Jockey, I fear
you intend to beguile,
When ſeated with Molly,
laſt night on a ſtile,
You ſwore that you'd love her,
for ever and ay,
Forgetting your Jenny,
the queen of the May.
Young Willy is handſome
in ſhepherd's green dreſt,
He gave you theſe ribbons,
that hing at your breaſt,
Beſides three kiſſes
upon the new hay,
Was that done like Jenny,
the queen of the May.
This garland of roſes
no longer I prize,
Since Jockey, falſe-hearted,
his paſſion denies,
Ye flowers ſo blooming,
this inſtant decay,
For Jenny's no longer
the queen of the may,
