When Jemmy First Began to Love

When Jemmy first began to Love,
He was the Gayest Swaine
That ever yet a Flock had drove,
Or danc’t upon the Plaine.
T’was then that I, weys me poor Heart,
My Freedom threw away;
And finding sweets in every smart,
I cou’d not say him nay.

And ever when he talkt of Love,
He wou’d his Eyes decline;
And every sigh a Heart would move,
Gued Faith and why not mine?
He’d press my hand, and Kiss it oft,
In silence spoke his Flame.
And whilst he treated me thus soft,
I wisht him more to Blame.

Sometimes to feed my Flocks with him,
My Jemmy wou’d invite me:
Where he the Gayest Songs wou’d sing,
On purpose to delight me.
And Jemmy every Grace displayd,
Which were enough I trow,
To Conquer any Princely Maid,
So did he me I Vow.

But now for Jemmy must I mourn,
Who to the Warrs must go;
His Sheephook to a Sword must turne:
Alack what shall I do?
His Bag-pipe into War-like Sounds,
Must now Exchanged bee:
Instead of Braceletts, fearful Wounds;
Then what becomes of me?