The Poor Flower Girl

The violet and primrose to pluck as they grew, Down hedge rows Iv'e rov'd among meadows so green, Now torn with the bramble, now dripping with dew, For I'm poor and forlorn, and I'm not yet fifteen.

For daisies and cowslips I seek with a sigh; Their cups all of gold, and their borders of green? I seek them, in hopes some good Christian will buy; For I'm poor and forlorn, and I'm not yet fifteen.

My nosegays not sold, and no friend by my side, At midnight if houseless and hungry I'm seen, Ah! gentles, be you my protectors and guide; For I'm poor and forlorn, and I'm not yet fifteen.