O the Ploughboy was a ploughing With his horses on the plain, And was singing of a song as on went he. "Since that I have fall'n in love, If the parents disapprove, 'Tis the first thing that will send me to the sea." 2 When the parents came to know That their daughter loved him so, Then they sent a gang, and pressed him for the sea. And they made of him a tar, To be slain in cruel war; Of the simple Ploughboy singing on the lea. 3 The maiden sore did grieve, And without a word of leave, From her father's house she fled secretlie, In male attire dress'd, With a star upon her breast, All to seek her simple Ploughboy on the sea. 4 Then she went o'er hill and plain, And she walked in wind and rain, Till she came to the brink of the blue sea. Saying, "I am forced to rove, For the loss of my true love, Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea." 5[19] Now the first she did behold, O it was a sailor bold, "Have you seen my simple ploughboy?" then said she. "They have press'd him to the fleet, Sent him tossing on the deep, Who is but a simple Ploughboy from the lea." 6 Then she went to the Captain, And to him she made complain, "O a silly Ploughboy's run away from me!" Then the Captain smiled and said, "Why Sir! surely you're a maid! So the Ploughboy I will render up to thee." 7 Then she pullèd out a store, Of five hundred crowns and more, And she strewed them on the deck, did she, Then she took him by the hand, And she rowed him to the land, Where she wed the simple Ploughboy back from sea. [Footnote 19: May be omitted in singing.] No. 60 FAIR LADY, PITY ME C.J.S. [Music] 1 Dear love, regard my grief, Do not my suit disdain; O yield me some relief, That am with sorrows slain. Pity my grievous pain Long suffer'd for thy sake, Do not my suit disdain No time I rest can take. These seven long years and more Still have I loved thee; Do thou my joys restore Fair lady, pity me. 2 While that I live I love So fancy urgeth me; My mind can not remove Such is my constancy. My mind is nobly bent Tho' I'm of low degree; Sweet lady, give consent To love and pity me. These seven long years and more Still have I loved thee; Do thou my joys restore Fair lady, pity me. No. 61 THE PAINFUL PLOUGH H.F.S. [Music] 1 O Adam was a ploughboy, when ploughing first begun, The next that did succeed him was Cain, his eldest son; Some of the generation the calling still pursue, That bread may not be wanting, they labour at the plough. 2