No use in trying

My love is as sweet as a bean field in blossom
Like the pea bloom her cheek like the dog rose her bosom
My love she's as rich as brook banks of daiseys
Gold eyes and silver rims meeting mens praises
Her eyes are as bright as the brooks silver ripples
Milk white are her twin breast[s] & rose pink the nipples
Her ancles are sweet as a man can conceive
And her arms are as fine to[o] though hid in her sleeve

She's as rosey as morning as mild as the even
I sing her love songs but she's hard o believeing
She'll bid me good day if we meet on the causeway
If I stop to talk love, in a minute she's saucey
To kiss or come nigh her there's no use in trying
She wouldn't toutch a mans face though he were dying
And yet she is lovely as ever was seen
As the rose o' the wood or pink o' the green

My love is as sweet as a bean field in blossom
The snow drop's not whiter than is her soft bosom
The plash o' the brook it is nothing so bright
As the beam of her eye by bonny moonlight
The rose o' her cheeks no garden so fair
Can match with the red & carnations there
We met where the bean fields were misted wi dew
And if she had kissed me why nobody knew

Clare's Countryside,
Selected and Introduced by Brian Patten,
ed. Eric Robinson (London: Heinemann/Quixote Press, 1981)

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