Classic Poem

How much I love thee girl would'st know,
Better than rosin loves the bow,
Than treble shrill the growling bass,
Or spruce guitars a tawdry case.

No more then let us solo play,
To Hymen's temple jig away,
There when we get,
In a duet,
Of pleasure will we take our swing,
Joy's fiddle shall play,
Love's bells shall ring:
And while we celebrate the day,
We'll frisk away,
And laugh and play,
And dance and sing,
And frisk away like any thing.

II.

I love thee more, I really think,
Than dancers jigs, or fiddlers drink;
Than dancing-masters love a kit,
Or jolly sailors fal dral tit.

No more then, &c.

III.

I love thee Griddy Oh much more
Than singers love a loud encore,
Than curates crowdies love to scratch,
Or roaring drunkards love a catch.

No more then, &c.