O dear Mother, what shall I do?
Sung by Jenny, p. 11.
O Dear Peggy love’s beguiling,
We ought not to trust his smiling,
Better far to do as I do,
Left a harder luck betyde you.
Lasses when their fancy’s carried,
Think of nought but to be married;
Running to a life destroys
Heartsome, free, and youthfu’ joys.