My Little Blithsome Sparrow

Why turns my Jen her head away, My little blithsome sparrow, That us'd to wanton, smile, and play, Upon the banks of Yarrow.

Sweet her breath, as primrose pale, Her waist, well shap'd, and narrow, And with her smiles, she chear'd the dale, And crown'd, the banks of Yarrow.

Ah what is't makes my Jenny weep, What makes her look aw sorrow, Say, has she lost some fav'rite sheep, That fed on bonny Yarrow?

Alas, alas, I sadly fear, The cause of aw this sorrow, She's seen some other swain more dear, Upon the banks of Yarrow.

Ah, woe is me, ah, well a day! I see what's caus'd this sorrow, I'll o'er the hills, and far away, And think no more of Yarrow.