My daughter Jane, is yet too young
To understand your flattering tongue.
Let her be young, or let her be old,
She must be sold for Spanish gold.
Turn back, turn back, you haughty knight,
And take the fairest in your sight.
This is the fairest I can see,
So ( ) must come to me.
—Bexley Heath (Miss Morris).
Here come three lords all dressed in green,
All for the sake of your daughter Jane.
My daughter Jane, she is so young,
She doesn’t know her mother-tongue.
[Or,
My cake ain’t baked, my ban [qy. beer or barm] ain’t brewed,
And yew can’t hev my daughter Jane.]