Love Songs, &c, SONG

Come buy of poor Mary, good matches I sell, Thro' London's fam'd city I'm known mighty well; Tho' my heart is quite sunk, yet I constantly cry, Come who'll buy my matches, Come who'll buy my matches, who'll buy, who'll buy; Come who'll buy my matches.

Friends and parents I've none, I ne'er saw their face, I wander about the poor child of disgrace; Yet tho' poor I am honest and oft heave a sigh, While crying, my matches who'll buy, who'll buy, Come, who'll buy my matches.

My equals despise me and say I am proud, Because I avoid them and keep from the crowd; For wicked temptations I ever will fly, I live by my matches, who'll buy, who'll buy, Come who'll buy my matches.

Alone and unpiti'd I'm look'd on with scorn, Ah! better for me I had never been born; Here I sue for protection, while plaintive I cry, Come who'll buy my matches, who'll buy, who'll buy. Come who'll buy my matches.