The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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BALLAD
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
BALLAD
[My mother will have it Im nought but a ninney]
My mother will have it Im nought but a ninney
For letting the roving young willey be mine
& says hell neer wed longs my name it is Jinney
She fancies she sees thro his deepest design
& deuce take her bother twill never be ended
It gins wi the morn & but closes wi day
She knows I shall wish when'ts too late to repent it
Id taen her good caution & turnd him away
For letting the roving young willey be mine
& says hell neer wed longs my name it is Jinney
She fancies she sees thro his deepest design
& deuce take her bother twill never be ended
It gins wi the morn & but closes wi day
She knows I shall wish when'ts too late to repent it
Id taen her good caution & turnd him away
Do as she will I mun 'gern & abide by't
Willys the lad that is all unto me
Had she lovd as I do shed never go chide it
But old ones forget what young years usd to be
Think what he sed to me yesterday even
He may kiss & trifle tis harmless as play
Mother may scold till shes shut out of heaven
Chance falls too seldom to turn it away
Willys the lad that is all unto me
Had she lovd as I do shed never go chide it
But old ones forget what young years usd to be
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He may kiss & trifle tis harmless as play
Mother may scold till shes shut out of heaven
Chance falls too seldom to turn it away
& now the hour proaches his vows to repeat 'em
Mother may chide me Ill bound hell be true
Scold while shes easy Ill neer miss to meet him
Evens broad shadow stains deep oer the dew
Sure in the time that he vowd hes mistaken
Neer woud he leave me so lonly to wait
O Willi' if yeve wrongd me my fears gins to waken
I dread mothers hints of repenting too late
Mother may chide me Ill bound hell be true
Scold while shes easy Ill neer miss to meet him
Evens broad shadow stains deep oer the dew
Sure in the time that he vowd hes mistaken
Neer woud he leave me so lonly to wait
O Willi' if yeve wrongd me my fears gins to waken
I dread mothers hints of repenting too late
| The early poems of John Clare | |