Mad Song

Oh! say on a Pillow of Down can you rest,
While I on the Earth or on Straw must recline!
Oh! say can you wrap the warm Fur o'er your breast?
While bare to the Winds and the Tempest is mine.

No Pillow have I, even that you deny one,
No Garment have I, nor a Penny to buy one,
He hears not, nor Pities my frantic distress,
Yet sure he remembers mad Wand'ring Bess.

He gave me bright Gems, and he gave me much Gold;
And proud was his fond foolish Anna to wear them,
But the love which he gave, Oh! it soon grew cold;
And then I no longer, no longer could bear them.

Can Gems calmly lie, on a fast breaking heart,
Can they bind the poor brain, the poor brain that's on fire,
No my sighs from my heart, bade the bright Jewels start,
And the throbs of my brain, of my brain burst their wire.

I sent them all back from a Soul on the rack,
And said all thy presents deceiver I spurn,
For that Jewel my fame, which I gave thee Oh! shame,
That Jewel most precious, thou can'st not return.

They tell me I'm wild, but I answer oh! no,
For my wrongs for my wrongs still my memory can seize on,
And trust me to know the extent of ones woe,
Is a proof too sure of Reason, is a proof too sure of Reason.