O, I'd rather own that car, sir, Than a coach and four, and gold galore, For the lady would sit forninst me, With my arm around her waist, SAMUEL LOVER. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. Of all the girls that are so smart Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em ; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em ; But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally! She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When she is by I leave my work, Of all the days that's in the week And that's the day that comes betwixt To walk abroad with Sally; And she lives in our alley. My master carries me to church, I leave the church in sermon-time, She is the darling of my heart, When Christmas comes about again, I'll give it to my honey; O, would it were ten thousand pound! I'd give it all to Sally; For she's the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. P Be what it may the time of day, the place be O, might we live together in lofty palace hall, Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curtains fall; where it will, Sweet looks of Mary Donnelly, they bloom before me still. Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so fine, THE POSIE. It's rolling down upon her neck, and gathered O, LUVE will venture in where it daurna weel be in a twine. seen, O, luve will venture in where wisdom ance has been! The dance o' last Whit-Monday night exceeded But I will down yon river rove amang the woods sae green: And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear, The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, For she's the pink o' womankind, and blooms without a peer: And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. when Phoebus peeps in I'll pu' the budding rose, view, For it's like a balmy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou’; The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue: And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. The woodbine I will pu', when the e'ening star is near, And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her een sae clear; The higher I exalt you, the lower I'm cast down. If some great lord should come this way and see The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to your beauty bright, And you to be his lady, I'd own it was but right. wear: And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. Love, if I dare so name My esteem for thee. Surely flowers can bear no blame, My bonny Mary Lee. Here's the violet's modest blue, That 'neath hawthorns hides from view, My gentle Mary Lee, While it thinks of thee. My charming Mary Lee; So I've brought the flowers to plead, Here's a wild rose just in bud; My bonny Mary Lee! I could find for thee. To speak unless the flower Can make excuse for me. LOVE IS A SICKNESS. LOVE is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing ; A plant that most with cutting grows, More we enjoy it, more it dies; Love is a torment of the mind, And Jove hath made it of a kind, More we enjoy it, more it dies; LOVE. SAMUEL DANIEL. AH! WHAT IS LOVE? AH! what is love? It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, And sweeter too; For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, If country loves such sweet desires gain, His flocks are folded; he comes home at night And merrier too; For kings bethink them what the state require, If country love such sweet desires gain, He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat For kings have often fears when they sup, If country loves such sweet desires gain, Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, If country loves such sweet desires gain, Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, If country loves such sweet desires gain, ROBERT GREENE. TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE. WHEN Delia on the plain appears, Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear If she some other swain commend, AH, HOW SWEET. Aн, how sweet it is to love! Cure, like trickling balm, their smart. Lovers, when they lose their breath, Bleed away in easy death. Love and Time with reverence use, Which in youth sincere they send: Love, like spring-tides full and high, Till they quite shrink in again. "T is but rain, and runs not clear. THE AGE OF WISDOM. Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin, Wait till you come to forty year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains; Billing and cooing is all your cheer, Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window-panes, Wait till you come to forty year. Forty times over let Michaelmas pass; Grizzling hair the brain doth clear; Then you know a boy is an ass, Then you know the worth of a lass, Once you have come to forty year. Pledge me round; I bid ye declare, -- All good fellows whose beards are gray, Did not the fairest of the fair Common grow and wearisome ere Ever a month was past away? The reddest lips that ever have kissed, Gillian's dead! God rest her bier, How I loved her twenty years syne ! Marian's married; but I sit here, Alone and merry at forty year, Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. |