When Jemmy, first began to Love, He was the finest Swain: That ever yet a flock had drove, Or danc’d upon the Plain. 5 Twas yau that I, way’s me poor heart, My freedome threw a way, And finding sweets in every smart: I could not say him nay. And ever when he spoke of Love, 10 He would his eyes decline, And every sigh, woud take a heart, Gued faith and why not mine. He’d press my Hand, and kiss it oft, His silence spoke his flame, 15 And whilst he treated me thus soft; I wisht him more to blame. Sometimes to feed my flocks with him, My Jemmy would invite me, There he the gayest Songs, would sing: 20 On purpose to delight me, And Jemmy every grace displ[ay]’d, Which were enough I trow, To conquer any princely Maid: So did he me I vow. 25 But now for Jemmy must I mourn, Who to the Wars must go, His Sheep-hook to a Sword must turn; Alass! what shall I do. His Bag-pipe into war-like sounds, 30 Must now exchanged be, Instead of Garlands, fearfull Wounds: Then what becomes of me.