A Song, call'd Molly Bawn
I'll tell you a story
And a story of late
Concerning my jewel
Her fortune was great,
She went out in an evening
And the rain it came on,
She went under the bushes
Herself for to screne.
Her love being out fowling
He shot in the dark
And to his misfortune
he did not miss his mark;
With her apron being about her,
he took her for a swan.
But Oh! and alas!
It was sweet Molly Bawn.
When he came to her
And found she was dead
A well full of tears
On his love he did shed,
Crying oh! my dear jewel
My joy and delight
I durst not presume
For to make her my bride.
He went home to his father
With the gun in his hand,
Crying father, dear father
I've shot Molly bawn
For her apron being about her,
And I took her for a swan
But ah, and alas
It was sweet Molly Bawn.
Oh, woe to the tobby 1
For the lend of thy arms,
For unfortunate Wrangle 2
has done this great harm
Shot the glory of the North
And the flower of Kiln-wan,
and what shall we do
For the loss of Molly Bawn.
Then up bespoke his Father
With his head growing grey,
Saying Johnny, dear Johnny
Don't run away.
For here in this country,
Your trial shall go on,
By the laws of our Nation,
You won't be condemn'd.
Two or three nights thereafter
To her uncle she did appear,
Saying uncle, dear uncle,
Johnny Wrangle set clear.
For my apron being about me,
And he took me for a swan,
But its ah! and alas
It was me Molly Bawn.
1: [thee Toby]
2: cf 'Randall', the hero's name in some American broadside versions.
From The Bottle and Frien'ds Garland. British Library 11621.c.3(4.), printed c.1780.
The Garland was part of the collection of John Bell of Newcastle. It was probably printed by T Saint of Newcastle around 1780. Saint operated from 1769, when he took over his late employer J White's printing business, until his death in 1888.
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