Song
A Girl that is sensible, lovely, and rich,
Might ev'n claim a poor poet's respect;
But the ugly, the ignorant, pennyless b—h,
He at least may despise and neglect.
What tho' at the table his linens be foul,
And his hair bristle up like a brush;
In his rat-peopled room he's a resolute soul,
And values no missling a rush.
What tho' he should be but an ass at a bow,
And what tho' he bow not at all;
Full many, I wot, that can bow them full low,
Are neither so wife nor so tall.
Some pert little monkey may laugh at his looks,
And may sneer at the length of his face;
But I'll lay you the odds, would he leave but his books,
She would laugh at her lover in lace.
The sober grave matron, that peeps o'er her spects,
And is shock'd at the dust on his shoes;
Would she cast but an eye on her own yellow cheeks,
Never more would she do as she does.
Fy, for shame, Mrs. Harridan ! how can you talk
Of a manner so fine, so genteel!
Who the deuce would not dust all his shoes in a walk,
To avoid the damn'd clack of a mill!
A truce with your merriment, gentlefolks all!
That filly-like lad that you see,
Has oft rais'd a laugh in an handsomer hall,
O'er a cup of far better than tea.
Tho' his phiz be so formal, so mute be his tongue,
He can speak, and, nay more, he can smile;
As wise as your wisest has hung on his song,
And a fairer embrac'd him the while.
Shorten not your dear noses, my ladies! in scorn,
He has kiss'd lips as ruddy as yours;
Yes, tho' they were fresh as the midsummer morn,
And array'd in the glory of flow'rs.
“Some juicy young milk-maid, the pride of the fold,
“The toast of some ale-drinking ring:”
Nay, stop till you hear all her merits be told;
She could curt'sy, could dance, and could sing.
Forgive me, my M IRA ! yes, you can forgive,
Tho' I praise you for what you despise;
The soft graces that breathe in your bosom, and live,
They have not, and how can they prize?
Was is not for my M IRA , the rigour of fate
Would soon bow me down to the grave;
A LEXIS is lost, if his M IRA forget,
He is lost, for she only can save,
Might ev'n claim a poor poet's respect;
But the ugly, the ignorant, pennyless b—h,
He at least may despise and neglect.
What tho' at the table his linens be foul,
And his hair bristle up like a brush;
In his rat-peopled room he's a resolute soul,
And values no missling a rush.
What tho' he should be but an ass at a bow,
And what tho' he bow not at all;
Full many, I wot, that can bow them full low,
Are neither so wife nor so tall.
Some pert little monkey may laugh at his looks,
And may sneer at the length of his face;
But I'll lay you the odds, would he leave but his books,
She would laugh at her lover in lace.
The sober grave matron, that peeps o'er her spects,
And is shock'd at the dust on his shoes;
Would she cast but an eye on her own yellow cheeks,
Never more would she do as she does.
Fy, for shame, Mrs. Harridan ! how can you talk
Of a manner so fine, so genteel!
Who the deuce would not dust all his shoes in a walk,
To avoid the damn'd clack of a mill!
A truce with your merriment, gentlefolks all!
That filly-like lad that you see,
Has oft rais'd a laugh in an handsomer hall,
O'er a cup of far better than tea.
Tho' his phiz be so formal, so mute be his tongue,
He can speak, and, nay more, he can smile;
As wise as your wisest has hung on his song,
And a fairer embrac'd him the while.
Shorten not your dear noses, my ladies! in scorn,
He has kiss'd lips as ruddy as yours;
Yes, tho' they were fresh as the midsummer morn,
And array'd in the glory of flow'rs.
“Some juicy young milk-maid, the pride of the fold,
“The toast of some ale-drinking ring:”
Nay, stop till you hear all her merits be told;
She could curt'sy, could dance, and could sing.
Forgive me, my M IRA ! yes, you can forgive,
Tho' I praise you for what you despise;
The soft graces that breathe in your bosom, and live,
They have not, and how can they prize?
Was is not for my M IRA , the rigour of fate
Would soon bow me down to the grave;
A LEXIS is lost, if his M IRA forget,
He is lost, for she only can save,
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.