What can I do? On worky days I leave my work on her to gaze. What shall I say? At sermons, I Forget the text when Molly's by.
Good master curate, teach me how To mind your preaching and my plow: And if for this you'll raise a spell, A good fat goose shall thank you well.
Unknown
CONTENTIONS
It was a lordling's daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well might be; Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see Her fancy fell a-turning.
Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight: To put in practice either, alas! it was a spite Unto the silly damsel.
But one must be refused: more mickle was the pain, That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain; For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain: Alas! she could not help it.
Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gays For now my song is ended.
Unknown
"I ASKED MY FAIR, ONE HAPPY DAY" After Lessing
I asked my fair, one happy day, What I should call her in my lay; By what sweet name from Rome or Greece; Lalage, Neaera, Chloris, Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, Arethusa or Lucrece.
"Ah!" replied my gentle fair, "Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suits the line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage or Doris, Only - only call me thine."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]
THE EXCHANGE
We pledged our hearts, my love and I, - I in my arms the maiden clasping: I could not tell the reason why, But oh! I trembled like an aspen.
Her father's love she bade me gain; I went, and shook like any reed! I strove to act the man - in vain! We had exchanged our hearts indeed.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]
"COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE"
Comin' through the rye, poor body, Comin' through the rye, She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Comin' through the rye.
Oh Jenny's a' wat poor body, Jenny's seldom dry; She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Comin' through the rye.
Gin a body meet a body, Comin' through the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body Comin' through the glen, Gin a body kiss a body, Need the warld ken?
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
"GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O!"
There's naught but care on every han', In every hour that passes, O! What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, O?
Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses, O!
The warl'ly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O! An' though at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!
Gie me a canny hour at e'en; My arms about my dearie, O! An' warl'ly cares, an' warl'ly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; Ye'er naught but senseless asses, O! The wisest man the warl' e'er saw He dearly loved the lasses, O!
Auld Nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes, O! Her 'prentice han' she tried on man, An' then she made the lasses, O!
Robert Burns [1759-1796]
DEFIANCE
Catch her and hold her if you can - See, she defies you with her fan, Shuts, opens, and then holds it spread In threatening guise above your head. Ah! why did you not start before She reached the porch and closed the door? Simpleton! will you never learn That girls and time will not return; Of each you should have made the most; Once gone, they are forever lost. In vain your knuckles knock your brow, In vain will you remember how Like a slim brook the gamesome maid Sparkled, and ran into the shade.
Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]
OF CLEMENTINA
In Clementina's artless mien Lucilla asks me what I see, And are the roses of sixteen Enough for me?
Lucilla asks, if that be all, Have I not culled as sweet before: Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall I still deplore.
I now behold another scene, Where Pleasure beams with Heaven's own light, More pure, more constant, more serene, And not less bright.
Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose, Whose chain of flowers no force can sever, And Modesty who, when she goes, Is gone for ever.
Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]
"THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING"
The time I've lost in wooing, In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing. Though Wisdom oft has sought me, I scorned the lore she brought me, - My only books Were women's looks, And folly's all they taught me.
Her smile when Beauty granted, I hung with gaze enchanted, Like him the sprite Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted. Like him, too, Beauty won me; But when the spell was on me, If once their ray Was turned away, O! winds could not outrun me.
And are those follies going? And is my proud heart growing Too cold or wise For brilliant eyes Again to set it glowing? No - vain, alas! th' endeavor From bonds so sweet to sever; - Poor Wisdom's chance Against a glance Is now as weak as ever.
Thomas Moore [1779-1852]
DEAR FANNY
"She has beauty, but you must keep your heart cool; She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so": Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool, And 'tis not the first time I have thought so, Dear Fanny, 'Tis not the first time I have thought so.
"She is lovely; then love her, nor let the bliss fly; 'Tis the charm of youth's vanishing season"; Thus Love has advised me, and who will deny That Love reasons better than Reason, Dear Fanny Love reasons much better than Reason.
Thomas Moore [1779-1852]
A CERTAIN YOUNG LADY
There's a certain young lady, Who's just in her hey-day, And full of all mischief, I ween; So teasing! so pleasing! Capricious! delicious! And you know very well whom I mean.
With an eye dark as night, Yet than noonday more bright, Was ever a black eye so keen? It can thrill with a glance, With a beam can entrance, And you know very well whom I mean.
With a stately step - such as You'd expect in a duchess - And a brow might distinguish a queen, With a mighty proud air, That says "touch me who dare," And you know very well whom I mean.
With a toss of the head That strikes one quite dead, But a smile to revive one again; That toss so appalling! That smile so enthralling! And you know very well whom I mean.
Confound her! de'il take her! - A cruel heart-breaker - But hold! see that smile so serene. God love her! God bless her! May nothing distress her! You know very well whom I mean.
Heaven help the adorer Who happens to bore her, The lover who wakens her spleen; But too blest for a sinner Is he who shall win her, And you know very well whom I mean.
Washington Irving [1783-1859]
"WHERE BE YOU GOING, YOU DEVON MAID"
Where be you going, you Devon maid? And what have ye there in the basket? Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy, Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; But oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!
I'll put your basket all safe in a nook; Your shawl I'll hang on a willow; And we will sigh in the daisy's eye, And kiss on a grass-green pillow.
John Keats [1795-1821]
LOVE IN A COTTAGE
They may talk of love in a cottage, And bowers of trellised vine, - Of nature bewitchingly simple, And milkmaids half divine; They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping In the shade of a spreading tree, And a walk in the fields at morning, By the side of a footstep free!
But give me a sly flirtation By the light of a chandelier, - With music to play in the pauses, And nobody very near; Or a seat on a silken sofa, With a glass of pure old wine, And mamma too blind to discover The small white hand in mine.
Your love in a cottage is hungry, Your vine is a nest for flies, - Your milkmaid shocks the Graces, And simplicity talks of pies! You lie down to your shady slumber And wake with a bug in your ear, And your damsel that walks in the morning Is shod like a mountaineer.
True love is at home on a carpet, And mightily likes his ease; - And true love has an eye for a dinner, And starves beneath shady trees. His wing is the fan of a lady, His foot's an invisible thing, And his arrow is tipped with a jewel, And shot from a silver string.
Nathaniel Parker Willis [1806-1867]
SONG OF THE MILKMAID From "Queen Mary"
Shame upon you, Robin, Shame upon you now! Kiss me would you? with my hands Milking the cow? Daisies grow again, Kingcups blow again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow.
Robin came behind me, Kissed me well, I vow; Cuff him could I? with my hands Milking the cow? Swallows fly again, Cuckoos cry again, And you came and kissed me milking the cow.
Come, Robin, Robin, Come and kiss me now; Help it can I? with my hands Milking the cow? Ringdoves coo again, All things woo again, Come behind and kiss me milking the cow!
Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]
"WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW"
I know a girl with teeth of pearl, And shoulders white as snow; She lives, - ah well, I must not tell, - Wouldn't you like to know?
Her sunny hair is wondrous fair, And wavy in its flow; Who made it less One little tress, - Wouldn't you like to know?