I'll give you fine jewels, and many fine things; I'll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee, If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!" "V have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings, None of your jewels, and other fine things; And I've got a petticoat suits my degree, And I'll ne er love a married man till his wife dee.'' "Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your pen-knife, And I will go home, and I'll kill my own wife; I'll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three, If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!" "Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so, Go home to your wife, and let nobody know; For seven long years I will wait upon thee, But I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.'' Now seven long years are gone and are past, The old woman went to her long home at last; The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free, And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee. Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride, With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side: Now all ye fair maids, take a warning by me, And ne er love a married man till his wife dee. UNDAUNTED MARY |It's of a Farmer's daughter, so beautiful I'm told, Her parents died and left her five hundred pounds in gold, She lived with her uncle, the cause of all her woe, And you shall hear this maiden fair did prove his overthrow. Her uncle had a ploughboy, young Mary loved full well, And in her uncle's garden their tales of love would tell; There was a wealthy squire who oft came her to see, But still she loved her ploughboy, on the bank of sweet Dundee. It was on one summer's morning, her uncle went straightway, He knocked at her chamber door, and unto her did say, "Come, rise up, pretty maiden, a lady you may be, The squire is waiting for you on the banks of sweet Dundee." "A fig for all your squires, your lords and dukes likewise, For William's hand appears to me like diamonds in my eyes;" "Begone, unruly maiden, you ne'er shall happy be, For I mean to banish William from the banks of sweet Dundee." Her uncle and the squire rode out one summer day, "Young William he's in favour," her uncle he did say, "But indeed it's my intention to tie him to a tree, Or else to bribe the pressgang, on the banks of sweet Dundee." The pressgang came to William when he was all alone, He bravely fought for liberty, but they were six to one, The blood did flow, in torrents: "Pray kill me now," said he, "I'd rather die for Mary I, on the banks of sweet Dundee." This maid one day was walking, lamenting for her love, She met the wealthy squire down in her uncles grove, He put his arm around her: "Stand off, base man," said she, "For you've sent the only lad I love, from the banks of sweet Dundee." He clasped his arms around her, and tried to throw her down, Two pistols and a sword she spied beneath his morning gown, The pistol proved so active, the sword she used so free,