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Courtship & marriage

Admred [sic] song called Young Molly Bawn

[NLS note: a graphic appears here - see image of page]

An admred Song called

                  YOUNG
              Molly Bawn.

Come all you young fellows that follow the gun,
Beware of late shooting by the setting of the sun,
Her white apron about her I took her for a swat
But to my misfortune it was my Molly Bawn

He ran to his uncle with the gun in his hand
Saying Uncle, dear Uncle I'm not able to stand,
I've a story to tell you which happened of late
I have lovely Moly Bawn and her beauty was great

Up comes his father and his locks they were gr
Stay in your own country and don't run away,
Stay in your own country till yonr trial comes o
ll see oufes a by the laws of the land.

My curses my u Toby that lent me your gun
To go a state shooting by the setting of the sun
I robbed her fair temples and found she was dead
A fo l got tears for my Molly I shed.

I shot my own true lover—alas ? I'm undone
While she was in the shade by the setting of the sun
Ah, if I thought she was there I'd caress her
tenderly,
And soon I'd get marred to my own dear Molly

Young women dont be jesting when your love
is sincere,
For if you do they can't love yon or e'er as you
care,
You'll know by a young man's conduct, when he's
gentle and bland
he'll give you his her and also hi hand,

          Rocking the Cradle

As I roved out on a fine summer
morning,
Down by a clear river I walked al
alone.
heard a man making a most sad
lamentation,
And thus he began to make his sad
moan
Chorus :—Crying ochone that I ever
was married,
Leaves me in sorrow alas to bemoan,
Weeping, wealing, and rocking the
cradle,
Pleasing the child that is none of my
own.

I listened awhile to his sad lamentat-
ion,
Perhaps that his story it might be
own,
So fondly he hugged and dandled the
baby,
And thus he began to make a sad moan

When first I met with your inconstant
mother,
I thought myself happy and blessed
with a wife,
But to my relexation, sure I soon was
mistaken,
She was a torture and pleague to my
life.

My wife comes in, in the heel of the
evening,
She says to her consert the kettle put
down,
For she sits to her table, and to tea
drinking,
Saying you old cuckold rook the child
round.

Every evening 'tis true she walks with
her bullies,
And leaves me the cradle to rock all
alone,
This innocent baby it calls me its dady
But little it knows its none of my own.

I was single once more to my glory
No element of pleasure would e'er me
invoke,
I'd ra er be a slave in wild Guinea.
Than to any drunkard or de a
cloak.

So now to conclude and to finish my
story,
All men that are single ne'er take a
wife,
For if you do they will surely torment
you,
Likewise be a torture all the days of
your life.

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