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Ah ! hapless wretch, quoth she, I am

Of lovers, yea, the worst,
While some delight to feel love's fla

I think myself accurst;
Yet will I never rest till I

Find out this prince of mine, Who strangely, and so privatel.

Forsook his Amadine.

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low-chandler, ere but shallow,

two and sixpence w's tallow. poor Colly, y my cow, Colly will give me No more milk now.

Then in comes the huntsman

So early in the morn,
He hid me a penny

For my cow's horn.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

LXIX.

The Countryman's Lamentation for the Death of

his Cow.

“ A country swain of little wit one day,
Did kill his cow because she went astray,
What's that to you or 1: she was his own,
But now the ass for his cow doth moan.

- Most pineously methinks he cries in vain,
For now his cow's free from hunger and pain,
What ails the fool to make so great a stir ?
She cannot come to him, he

may to her.

To a pleasant country tune called-Colly my Cow.

LITTLE Tom Dogget

What dost thou mean, To kill thy poor Colly

Now she's so lean?
Sing oh poor Colly,

Colly my cow,
For Colly will give me

No more milk now.

I had better have kept her

"Till fatter she had been, For now I confess

She's a little too lean, Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

First in comes the tanner

With his sword by his side, And he bids me five shillings

For my poor cow's hide. Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the tallow-chandler,

Whose brains were but shallow, And he bids me two and sixpence

For my cow's tallow.
Sing oh poor Colly,

Colly my cow,
For Colly will give me

No more milk now.

Then in comes the huntsman

So early in the morn, He hid me a penny

For my cow's horn. Sing oh poor Colly, &c,

Then in comes the tripe-woman,

So fine and so neat,
She bid me three half-pence,

For my cow's feet.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

Then in comes the butcher,

That nimble-tongu'd youth, Who said she was carrion,

But he spoke not the truth. Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

This cow had a skin

Was as soft as the silk, And three times a day

My poor cow would give milk. Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

She every year

A fine calf did me bring, Which fetcht me a pound,

For it came in the spring. Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

But now I have kill'd her,

I can't her recall,
I will sell my poor Colly,

Hide, horns and all.
Sing oh poor Colly, &c.

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