  Tune—Low down in the Broom. ’Twas on a summer’s evening, As I a roving went, I met a maiden fresh and fair, That was a milking sent. Whose lovely look such sweetness spoke, Divinely fair she shone; With modest face her dwelling-place, I found was Cockerton. With raptures fir’d, I eager gaz’d, On this blooming country maid, My roving eye, in quickest search, Each graceful charm survey’d. The more I gaz’d, new wonder rais’d, And still I thought upon Those lovely charms, that so alarms In the Lass of Cockerton. Now would the Gods but deign to hear, An artless lover’s prayer; This lovely nymph ’bove all I’d ask, And scorn each other care; True happiness I’d then possess, Her love to share alone; No mortals know what pleasures flow, With the lass of Cockerton. |
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