Transcribed by me from the Bodleian Library Broadside Ballads Catalogue: Harding B 11(257)

BETSY BAKER
[Printed in London in 1828 or 1829.]

From noise and bustle far away,
Hard work my time employing,
How happily did I pass each day,
Content and health enjoying.
The birds did sing and so did I,
As I trudg'd o'er each acre.
I never knew what 'twas to sigh
Till I saw Betsy Baker.

At church I met her dressed so neat,
One Sunday in hot weather.
With love I found my heart did beat,
As we sung psalms together.
So piously she hung her head,
The while her voice did shake, ah!
I thought if ever I did wed,
'Twould be with Betsy Baker.

From her side I could not budge,
And sure I thought no harm on't.
My elbow then she gave a nudge,
And bade me mind the sarment. (=sermon?)
When church was over, out she walked,
But I did overtake her.
Determined I would not be baulked,
I spoke to Betsy Baker.

Her manners were genteel and cool,
I found, on conversation.
She'd just come from boarding school,
And finished her education.
But love made me speak out quite free.
Says I, "I've many an acre.
Will you give me your company?"
"I shan't," says Betsy Baker.

All my entreaties she did slight,
And I was forced to leave her.
I got no sleep all that there night,
For love had brought a fever.
The doctor came. He smelt his cane
With long face like a Quaker.
Said he, "Young man, pray, where's thy pain?"
Says I, "Sir, Betsy Baker."

Because I was not bad enough,
He bolused and he pilled me,
And, if I'd taken all his stuff,
I think he must ha' killed me.
I put an end to all the strife
'Twixt him and the undertaker,
And what d'ye think 'twas saved my life?
Why, thoughts of Betsy Baker.

I then again to Betsy went,
Once more with love attacked her,
But mean time she got acquainted
Wi' a ramping mad-play actor.
If she would have him, he did say,
A lady he would make her.
He gammoned her to run away,
And I lost Betsy Baker.

I fretted very much to find
My hopes of love so undone,
And mother thought 'twould ease my mind
If I came up to London.
But though I strive another way,
My thoughts will ne'er forsake her.
I dream all night, and think all day
Of cruel Betsy Baker.