The American Songster, Song

All on the pleasant banks of Tweed Young Jocky won my heart; None tun'd so sweet his oaten reed, None sung with so much art, His skilful tale Did soon prevail, To make me fondly love him; But now he flies, Nor hears my cries, I would I ne'er had seen him.

When first we met, the bonny swain Of nought but love could say: Oh! give, he cried, my heart again, You've stole my heart away: Or else incline, To give me thine, And I'll together join 'em, My faithful heart Will never part, Ah! why did I believe him.

Not now my slighted face he knows, His soon forgotten dear; To wealthier lass o'erjoy'd he goes, To breath his falshood there: Mistaken Kate, The swain's a cheat, Not for a moment trust him: For shining gold, He's bought and sold: I would I had not seen him.

Then all ye maidens sly the swain, His wily stories shun; Else you like me must soon complain, Like me will be undone; But peace my breast, Nor break my rest; I try clean to forget him; I soon shall see As good as he; I wish I ne'er had seen him.