Baldon Lane

As I went down the Baldon lane,     Alone I went, as oft I went,     Weighing if it were loss or gain     To give a maidenhead.     I met, just as the day was spent,     A fancy man, a gentleman,     Who smiled on me, and then began,     'Come sit with me, my maid.'     With him had I no mind to sit     In Baldon lane for loss or gain,     Said I to him with feeble wit,     And close beside him crept;     The branches might have heard my pain,     The sudden cry, the maiden cry,     My fancy man departed sly,     And woman-like, I wept.     I kept the roads until my bed,     A nine months' time, a weary time,     And then to Baldon woods I fled     In Spring-time weather mild;     The kindly trees, they fear no crime,     So back I came, to Baldon came,     Received their welcome without blame,     And moaned and dropped my child.     The poor brat gasped an hour or so,     A goodly child, a thoughtful child;     Perceiving nought for us but woe     It stretched and sudden died;     But I, when Spring breaks fresh and mild,     To Baldon lane return again,     For there's my home, and women vain     Must hold their homes in pride.