JENNY's Lamentation For the loss of her JEMMY.  
She wandered up and down for Love,  
Till she was weary grown,  
Then sat down in a shady Grove,  
and thus she made her moan.  
Tune of, Jenny Gin, or Busy Fame.  
 
 

A Woe's me! poor harmless Maid,  
my hopes are quite undone,  
For J●mmy he is from me fled,  
who onst I thought my own:  
Alas! he's gone for evermore  
from her who loved him well,  
Who will his memory adore,  
whilst upon Earth I dwell.   
 

Ah! cruel Swain, that thou should prove  
so perjured to thy Love,  
To make her wander in this Grove,  
like to the Turtle Dove,  
Who losing of her Mate, does pine,  
and moan itself to death;  
So I shall murmur to the wind  
as long as I have breath.   
 
 

Can thou so faithless prove to one  
that gave to thee her heart;  
Remember but the Oaths thou'st sworn  
that we should never part:  
You kissed my hand, and squezed it hard,  
and swore and vowed that I  
Should ever you of love debar,  
immediately you die.   

But Jemmy when you hear I'm gone,  
and that for you I died,  
Your conquest then will soon be done  
when once your Charms are tried:  
I'll pray to Cupid, tho' he's blind,  
that he will shoot his dart,  
And make thee love one that's unkind  
and so to break thy heart.   

I wish the times I saw thee first  
had been my Burial day,  
Then I had ne'er had cause to cursed,  
nor any one to say:  
Ah! Jenny, thou that onst was thought  
the glory of the Plain,  
Was by a faithless Shepherd caught,  
and by his falsehood slain.   

But farewell cruel perjured Swain,  
for evermore adieu;  
Unto the gods I will complain  
how faithless and untrue,  
How much like them that he was made,  
in every part divine;  
Yet has his Shepherdess betrayed,  
and does his vows decline.   

Be witness gods I had no faul●  
except I loved too well,  
My heart ne'er thought of a revoult,  
and that my eyes can tell:  
Let all young maids by me be warned,  
and keep entire their Love,  
For fear when onst their hearts are charmed  
they wander in this Grove.   

She had no sooner said this word  
but down the Damsel fell,  
And said, goodby my dearest Lord,  
in whom all beauties dwell:  
Then fetching of a dreadful groan,  
unto the winds she spoke,  
Bear these my last words to my Love;  
and then her heartstrings broke.    

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in west Smithfield.