Should Old Acquaintance be forgot,
and never thought upon;
The flames of Love extinguished,
and fully past and gone:
Is thy sweet Heart now grown so cold,
that loving Breast of thine;
That thou canst never once reflect
on Old long syne.
For Old long syne my Jo,
for Old long syne,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
My Heart is ravisht with delight,
when thee I think upon;
All Grief and Sorrow takes the flight,
and speedily is gone;
The bright resemblance of thy Face,
so fills this, Heart of mine;
That Force nor Fate can me displease,
for Old long syne.
For Old long syne my Jo,
for Old long syne,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
Since thoughts of thee doth banish grief,
when from thee I am gone;
will not thy presence yield relief,
to this sad Heart of mine:
Why doth thy presence me defeat,
with excellence divine?
Especially when I reflect
on Old long syne
For Old long syne my Jo,
for Old long syne,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
Oh, then, Clorinda, prove more kind,
be not ungratefull still:
Since that my Heart ye have so ty’d,
why shoud ye then it kill:
Sure, Faith and Hope depend on thee,
kill me not with disdain:
Or else I swear I’ll still reflect
on Old long syne.
For Old long syne my Jo,
for Old long syne,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
Since you have rob’d me of my Heart;
It`s reason I have yours;
Which Madam Nature doth impart,
to your black Eyes and Browes:
With honour it doth not consist,
to hold thy Slave in pain:
Pray let thy rigour then resist,
for Old long syne.
For Old long syne my Jo,
for Old long syne,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
It is my freedom I do crave,
by depracating pain;
Since libertie ye will not give,
who glories in his Chain:
But yet I wish the gods to move
that noble Heart of thine;
To pity since ye cannot love,
for Old long syne.
For Old long syne my Jo,
for Old long syne,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
But since that nothing can prevail
and all hopes are in vain;
From these rejected Eyes of mine,
still showers of Tears Shall rain:
Though thou wast Rebel to the King
and beat with Wind therein,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
For Old long syne my Jo,
for Old long syne,
Assure thy self of welcome Love,
for Old long syne.
-James Watson, 1711.
