“Yes, and God keep me so, amen,” replied Nancy mournfully.

Had not the night concealed it, a tear might have been seen by the others in the boat to trickle down the cheek of Nancy Corbett, as she was reminded of her former life; and as she again fixed her eyes upon the brilliant heavens, each particular star appeared to twinkle brighter, as if they rejoiced to witness tears like those.

“You must be light o’ heart now, Mistress Nancy,” observed Jemmy, soothingly.

“I am not unhappy,” replied she, resting her cheek upon her hand.

“Mistress Nancy,” said Moggy, “I should think a little of that stuff would do neither of us any harm; the night is rather bleak.”

Moggy poured out a glass and handed it to Nancy; she drank it, and it saved her from a flood of tears, which otherwise she would have been unable to repress.  In a minute or two, during which Moggy helped herself and the old boatman, Nancy’s spirits returned.

“Do you know this air?” said Nancy to Jemmy, humming it.

“Yes, yes, I know it well, Mistress Nancy.  Will you sing to it?”

Nancy Corbett who had been celebrated once for her sweet singing, as well as her beauty, immediately commenced in a soft and melodious tone, while Jemmy touched his fiddle.

Lost, stolen, or strayed,
The heart of a young maid;
Whoever the same shall find,
And prove so very kind. 
To yield it on desire,
They shall rewarded be,
And that most handsomely,
With kisses one, two, three. 
Cupid is the crier,
Ring-a-ding, a-ding,
Cupid is the crier.

O yes!  O yes!  O yes! 
Here is a pretty mess! 
A maiden’s heart is gone,
And she is left forlorn,
And panting with desire;
Whoever shall bring it me,
They shall rewarded be. 
With kisses one, two, three. 
Cupid is the crier,
Ring-a-ding, a-ding,
Cupid is the crier.

’Twas lost on Sunday eve,
Or taken without leave,
A virgin’s heart so pure,
She can’t the loss endure,
And surely will expire;
Pity her misery. 
Rewarded you shall be,
With kisses one, two, three. 
Cupid is the crier,
Ring-a-ding, a-ding,
Cupid is the crier.

The maiden sought around,
It was not to be found,
She searched each nook and dell,
The haunts she loved so well,
All anxious with desire;
The wind blew ope his vest,
When, lo! the toy in quest,
She found within the breast
Of Cupid, the false crier,
Ring-a-ding, a-ding-a-ding,
Cupid the false crier.

“Many thanks, Mistress Corbett, for a good song, sung in good tune, with a sweet voice,” said Jemmy.  “I owe you one for that, and am ready to pay you on demand.  You’ve a pipe like a missel thrush.”

“Well, I do believe that I shall begin to sing again,” replied Nancy.  “I’m sure if Corbett was only once settled on shore in a nice little cottage, with a garden, and a blackbird in a wicker cage, I should try who could sing most, the bird or me.”