Then if I ever fishing go,
Folks vill not let me be;
Vot's mirth to them to me is voe,
Although, perhaps, but a spree.
Intently ven I sometimes try,
Fly-fishing to catch trout,
Some willian vill come up and cry,
"Does your mother know you're out?"
It's really quite a misery
To be so much annoy'd, In fearing this wild quizzery, Friend and foe I alike awoid. From post to pillar I am chas'd, And driven like a scout, One to ask at every corner's plac'd, "Does your mother know you're out?"
I vonce the nuisance to escape,
Vos forc'd a cab to call,
But the fellars out of spite did gape
And vouldn't hear me bawl;
Then my pursuers tipt the vink,
The cads set up a shout
(I felt so queer you cannot think-)
"Does your mother know you're out ?"
For my part nothing can I see
About my person flaring,
Vy they should push their fun at me,
And saucily be staring?
"Tis shameful, and with rage I burn,
That every stupid lout
Should cry, vichever vay I turn—
"Does your mother know you're out?"
To a ball last night I vent,
And happy might have been,
A pleasant ev'ning there have spent
Vith a damsel-beauty's queen.
But as a valtz ve twisted,
She vith an artful pout,
Ask'd as not to be resisted,
66 Does your mother know you're out ?"
My mind's made up, I vill not stay
In town to be derided;
But to some silent glen avay,
Vhere my grief can be subsided.
I'll seek some shelt'ring peaceful nook,
Vhere none can come and rout,
Or question me vith fiendish look-
"Does your mother know you're out ?"
In spite of all these sad mishaps,
I have some comfort yet;
Vhen I see those smiling faces
Vot hoccupy the pit;
Those who possess the boxes too;
And to the gods I'll shout,
Vhen next they come to see me here
"Does your mother know you're out ?"
GO, BRIGHTEST OF THE FLOWERY RACE.
Go, brightest of the flowery race,
Sweet rose, to Laura's bosom go-
The shrines of Love and Truth to grace,
Where crimson velvet fades in snow.
What, though the fragrance of her breath,
Respir'd in gales of love divine,
Should prove at last thy beauty's death,
An envied fate will still be thine.
A thousand youthful swains I know,
Far distant, homeless doomed to sigh,
Who instantly would life forego,
And gladly on her bosom die.
WHAT IS IT TO LOVE.
STRANGER, didst thou ever prove,
Ever what it is to love!
Stranger, didst thou ever feel,
What thou tremblest to reveal!
I have prov'd, and I have felt,
What a heart of stone would melt.
Stranger, didst thou ever sigh,
Knowing not the reason why?
Didst thou blush, if one lov'd name,
E'er in conversation came?
Stranger, ne'er my cause deride,
Though, I own, I've blush'd and sigh'd.
If his eye thine eye has met,
Blushes did it not beget?
If his praises reach'd thine ear,
Seem'd there not enchantment near?
Him I've met, his praise I've prov'd,
Where is now my best belov'd?
THE GIRL I APPROVE.
You ask me what sort of a girl I approve;
Few words shall express my desire;
Her face must be fair, like the mother of Love,
Like her, are the charms I admire.
Bright beauty alone, shall not conquer my heart,
The maid to my mind must have more,
More charms to enslave than Beauty's keen dart,
For wit and good sense I adore.
Her beauty, wit, and good sense combined,
Should not fix me her servant for life;
But her manner so sweet, her temper so kind,
Are the charms I seek in a wife.
THINK ON THAT LOOK OF HUMID RAY.
THINK on that look of humid ray,
Which for a moment mix'd with mine;
And for that moment seem'd to say,
I dare not, or I would be thine.
Think, think on ev'ry smile and glance,
On all thou hast to charm or move;
And then forgive my bosom's trance,
And tell me 'tis not sin to love.
Oh! not to love thee were a sin;
For sure if heaven's decrees be done,
Thou, thou art destin'd still to win,
As I was destin'd to be won!
WINE EXPANDS THE SOUL.
WHEN generous wine expands the soul,
How pleasure hovers round the bowl,
Avaunt ye cares of Fancy's crew,
And give the guilty wretch his due:
But let the juice of sparkling wine,
My grosser sense of love refine:
As Jove his nectar drinks above,
I'll quaff whole goblets full of love.
Then why should I at life repine;
Bring me, Venus, bring me wine,
Fill the ever-flowing bowl,
In circles gay and pleasures roll.
Ever open, ever free,
Hail thou friend to jollity;
My brows with Bacchus' chaplets crown'd,
I'll live to love-my cares are drown'd.
COME YIELD AND BE MY LOVE.
As Kate and I down in the glade
The other afternoon we stray'd,
We talk'd of nought but love.
Her sweet black eyes, her cheeks so fair,
Outvies the lily's bloom by far,
That grows in yonder grove.
I said my Kitty, lovely maid,
We sure were for each other made,
Come yield, and be my love.
We both sat down upon the ground,
Whilst silence seem'd to reign around,
She yielded to my love.
YOUNG William was a sailor bold,
A tar renown'd for fame ;
He lov'd his Nancy more than gold;
He bless'd her virtuous name.
Fair Nancy said with fault'ring voice,
And heav'd a tender sigh,
My dearest William you're my choice,
With you I'd live and die.
The ship's unmoor'd, I must away,
"Twas thus fond William said,
My messmates call, I must obey;
Then weep not charming maid.
With parting kiss he bade adieu,
And vow'd he'd constant prove,
With heartfelt grief his Nancy true,
Shed tears for William's love.
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