I drank to her joy with a tear on my face, And the wine glass as usual I pushed on the space, Nor knew she was gone till I looked at the place, Such a fool was I made of by sorrow. Now make me a bed in yon river so deep, Let its waves be my mourners; nought living will weep, And there let me lie and take a long sleep, So adieu to my false love for ever. O SILLY LOVE! O CUNNING LOVE! O silly love! O cunning love! An old maid to trepan: I cannot go about my work For loving of a man. I cannot bake, I cannot brew, And, do the best I can, I burn the bread and chill the mash, Through loving of a man. Shrove Tuesday last I tried, and tried, To turn the cakes in pan, And dropt the batter on the floor, Through thinking of a man. My mistress screamed, my master swore, Boys cursed me in a troop; The cat was all the friends I had, Who helped to clean it up. Last Christmas eve, from off the spit I took the goose to table, Or should have done, but teasing Love Did make me quite unable; And down slipt dish, and goose, and all With din and clitter-clatter; All but the dog fell foul on me; He licked the broken platter. Although I'm ten years past a score, Too old to play the fool, My mistress says I must give o'er My service for a school. Good faith! What must I do, and do, To keep my service still; I'll give the winds my thoughts to love, Indeed and so I will. And if the wind my love should lose, Right foolish were the play, For I should mourn what I had lost, And love another day. With crosses and with losses Right double were the ill, So I'll e'en bear with love and all, Alack, and so I will. NOBODY COMETH TO WOO On Martinmas eve the dogs did bark, And I opened the window to see, When every maiden went by with her spark, But ne'er a one came to me. And O dear what will become of me? And O dear what shall I do, When nobody whispers to marry me-- Nobody cometh to woo? None's born for such troubles as I be: If the sun wakens first in the morn, "Lazy hussy" my parents both call me, And I must abide by their scorn, For nobody cometh to marry me, Nobody cometh to woo, So here in distress must I tarry me-- What can a poor maiden do? If I sigh through the window when Jerry The ploughman goes by, I grow bold; And if I'm disposed to be merry, My parents do nothing but scold; And Jerry the clown, and no other, E'er cometh to marry or woo; They think me the moral of mother, And judge me a terrible shrew. For mother she hateth all fellows, And spinning's my father's desire, While the old cat growls bass with the bellows If e'er I hitch up to the fire. I make the whole house out of humour, I wish nothing else but to please, Would fortune but bring a good comer To marry, and make me at ease!