Classic Poem

I.

S OME folks, there are, gang trig, and fine,
In silks, and sattins, idly flaming;
But She I love, is all divine,
Their artfu' toil, and dresses shaming.
Gin, She were but a cottage-Lass,
And I, a Shepherd boy;
I'd let those tempting Damsels, pass,
Sweet Ann of Aughnacloy.

II.

My Annie's locks, as sunbeams, bright,
Her e'en, sa' mild, Love's starry seat,
Her cheeks, like Morning's purple light;
Without the aid of art, compleat,
Gin she were, doft in russet weed,
And I, a Shepherd boy,
I'd take thee, as Heav'ns choicest meed,
Dear Ann of Aughnacloy.