The Nun

Sure a lass in her bloom, at the age of nineteen, Was ne'er so distress'd as of late I have been; I know not, I vow, any harm I have done, But mother oft tells me, she'll have me a nun. But mother, &c.

Don't you think it a pity, a girl such as I, Shou'd be sentenc'd to pray, and to fast, and to cry; With ways so devout I'm not like to be won, And my heart it loves frolic too well for a nun.

To hear the men flatter, and promise, and swear, Is a thousand times better to me, I declare; I can keep my self chaste nor by wiles be undone; Nay, besides, I'm too handsome, I think, for a nun.

Not to love or be lov'd, oh, I never can bear, Nor yield to be sent to—one cannot tell where; To live or to die, in this case were all one: Nay, I sooner would die, than be reckon'd a nun.

Perhaps, but to teaze me, she threatens me so, I'm sure we're she me she wou'd stoutly say no; But if she's in earnest, I from her will run, And be married in spite, that I may'nt be a nun.