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And I her lambs did safely keep,
within my fold in frost and snow:
Have they not there from cold been free?
But Nanny still is cold to me.
When Nanny to the woll did come,
’twas I that did her pitchers fill;
Full as they were I brought them home;
her corn I carried to the mill;
My back did tear the sack, but she
Can never bear a sight of me.
To Nanny’s poultry oats I gave,
I’m sure they always had the best;
Within this week her pigeons have
eat up a peck of pease at least.
Her little pigeons kiss, but she
Will never take a kiss from me.
Must Robin always Nanny woo,
and Nanny still on Robin frown,
Alas! poor wretch! what shall I do,
if Nanny does not love me soon!
If no relief to me she’ll bring,
I’ll hang me in her apron string.
