A Song (A Lad o' th' Town thus made his moan)

A Lad o' th' Town thus made his moan
One Winter Morning early,
Alas, that I must lie alone,
And Moggey's Bed so near me:
All Night I toss, I turn and sigh,
Nor ever can I close my Eye,
For thinking that I lig so nigh,
The Lass I Love so dearly.

She's all Delight from foot to crown,
And just Eighteen her Age is,
And that she still must lie alone,
My Heart and Soul inrages;
I'd give the World I might put on
Each Morn her Stocking or her Shoon,
If I were but her Serving Loon
I'd never ask for Wages.

If Moggey would but be my Bride
I'd take no Parents warning;
Nor value all the World beside,
Nor any Lasses scorning:
My Love is grown to such a height,
I prize so much my own delight,
I care not, had I her one Night
If I were hang'd •' th' Morning.