The country-mans lamentation for the death of his cow

A Country Swain of little wit one day,
Did kill his Cow because she went astray;
What's that to I or you, she was his own,
But now the Ass for his Cow doth moan:
Most pincously methink he cries in vain,
For now his Cow, free from hunger, and pain:
What ails the fool to make so great o stir,
She cannot come to him, he may to her.
To a pleasant Country Tune, called, Colly my Cow.
[figure]
LIttle Tom Dogget,
what dost thou mean,
To kill thy poor Colly,
now she's so lean:
Sing, Oh poor Colly;
Colly my Cow;
For Colly will give me
no more milk now.
Pruh high, pruh hoe;
Pruh high, pruh hoe,
Pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh,
Tal val daw,
I had better have kept her,
till fatter she had been,
For now I confess
she's a little too lean:
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
First in comes the Tanner,
with his Sword by his side;
And he bids me five Shillings,
for my Cows hide:
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
Then in comes the Tallow-chandler,
whose brains were but shallow,
And he bids me two and Six-pence,
for my Cows Tallow:
Sing, Oh poor Colly,
Colly my Cow,
For Colly will give me
no more milk now:
Pruh high, pruh hoe,
Pruh high, and pruh hoe,
Sing, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh pruh,
Tal dal daw.

[Page 79]

Follow your Ambassador

Cookoow

THen in comes the Huntsman,
so early in the morn,
He bid me a Penny
for my Cows horn:
Sing, Oh poor Colly,
Colly my Cow:
For Colly will give me
no more milk now:
Pruh high, pruh hoe,
Pruh high, and pruh hoe,
Sing, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, pruh, Pruh
Tal dal daw.
Then in comes the Tripe-woman,
so fine and so neat,
She bid me three-half-pence
for my Cows feet:
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
Then in comes the Butcher,
that nimble, tongu'd youth:
Who said she was Carrion,
but he spoke not the truth:
Sing, O poor Colly, &c.
This Cow had a skin,
was as soft as the silk,
And three times a day,
my poor Cow would give milk:
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
She every year,
a sine Calf did me bring,
Which fetcht me a pound,
for it came in the Spring:
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
But now I have kill'd her,
I can't her recall:
I will sell my poor Colly,
Hide, Horns, and all:
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
The Butcher shall have her,
though he gives but a pound:
And he knows in his heart,
that my Colly was sound:
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
And when he has bought her,
let him sell all together,
The flesh for to eat,
and the hide for Leather.
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
Some say i'm a Cuckold,
but i'le swear I am none,
For how can it be,
now my horns are gone.
Sing, Oh poor Colly, &c.
FINIS.

Printed for C. Passinger, at the seven stars in the new Buildings, on London-bridge.

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.