Mary Featherstone

O bonny Mary Featherstone she stole my heart away
One year she kept it prisoner — I knew not what to say
She kept my heart a prisoner and like a clocking hen
I clucked o' notes o' tenderness when the chickins leave the pen
I looked upon her pink gown that fitted her so well
As fellons look on heaven through the burning chinks o' hell
Her gown was pink her hair was black her bonny face was fair
And I sighed for Mary Featherstone 'till it bordered on dispair.


O bonny Mary Featherstone no maid could her excell
When among the sweet spring flowers in a pink gown she did dwell
Her hair was black as any coal and rosy pink her gown
Her eyes were bright her lips more sweet than any face in town
Young bonny Mary Featherstone was bonny as the flowers
And I've stood near the wicket gate to notice her for hours
Bright bloomed the mallows silken flowers a dress o' sattin hue
They bloomed where she was daily seen so bonny and so true.


O bonny Mary Featherstone on her my fancies dwell
I love her all the year about but that I never tell
I love to see her garden gay — the pretty flowers beside
For there my bonny Mary in her dwelling does reside
And day and night the year about I do nought else but think
Of bonny Mary's rosy face and curls as black as ink
And if she dont relieve me I very soon must go
To the land of death and shadows in the regions down below.
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