'Twas within a Furlong of Edinborough Town, In the Rosie time of Year when the Grass was down, Bonnie Jockey, Blithe and Gay, Said to Jenny making Hay, Let us sit a little (Dear) and prattle, 'Tis a sultry Day; Long had he Courted the Black-Brow'd maid But Jockey was a Wag, and would n'er consent to Wed; Which made her pish and phoo, and cry out it will not do; I cannot, cannot, cannot, wonnot, monnot buckle to. He told her Marriage was grown a meer Joke, And that none Wedded now but the Scoundrel Folk, Yet, my dear, thou shouldest prevail, But I know not what I ail, I shall dream of Clogs, and silly Dogs, With Bottles at their Tail; But I'll give thee Gloves and a Bongrace to wear, And a pretty Filly-Foal to ride out and take the Air, If thou ne'er will pish nor phoo, and cry it ne'er shall do, I cannot, cannot, cannot, wonnot, monnot buckle to. That you'll give me Trinkets, cry'd she, I believe, But ah! what in Return must your poor Jenny give, When my Maiden Treasure's gone, I must gang to London Town, And Roar and Rant, and Patch and Paint, And Kiss for half-a-Crown; Each Drunken Bully oblige for Pay, And earn an hated Living an odious Fulsom way. No, no, it ne'er shall do, for a Wife I'll be to you, Or I cannot, cannot, cannot, wonnot, monnot buckle to.
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