Buxom Joan

179

BUXOM JOAN

A SOLDIER and a sailor,
A tinker and a tailor,

Had once a doubtful strife, sir,
To make a maid a wife, sir,

Whose name was Buxom Joan.
For now the time was ended,
When she no more intended
To lick her lips at men, sir,
And gnaw the sheets in vain, sir,
And lie o' nights alone.

The soldier swore like thunder,
He loved her more than plunder;
And showed her many a scar, sir,
That he had brought from far, sir,
With fighting for her sake.
The tailor thought to please her,
With offering her his measure.
The tinker too with mettle,
Said he could mend her kettle,
And stop up every leak.

But while these three were prating,
The sailor slily waiting,

Thought if it came about, sir,
That they should all fall out, sir,
He then might play his part.
And just e'en as he meant, sir,
To loggerheads they went, sir,
And then he let fly at her

A shot 'twixt wind and water,

That won this fair maid's heart.

William Congreve.

OH, MY GERALDINE

Он, my Geraldine,

No flow'r was ever seen so toodle um.

You are my lum ti toodle lay,

Pretty, pretty queen,

Is rum ti Geraldine and something teen,
More sweet than tiddle lum in May.
Like the star so bright

That somethings all the night,
My Geraldine!

You're fair as the rum ti lum ti sheen,
Hark! there is what-ho!

From something-um, you know,
Dear, what I mean.

Oh! rum! tum!! tum!!! my Geraldine.

F. C. Burnand.

THE PARTERRE

I DON'T know any greatest treat
As sit him in a gay parterre,
And sniff one up the perfume sweet
Of every roses buttoning there.

It only want my charming miss

Who make to blush the self red rose;

Oh! I have envy of to kiss

The end's tip of her splendid nose.

Oh! I have envy of to be

What grass 'neath her pantoffle push,

And too much happy seemeth me
The margaret which her vestige crush.

But I will meet her nose at nose,
And take occasion for her hairs,

And indicate her all my woes,

That she in fine agree my prayers.

How to Ask and Have

THE ENVOY

I don't know any greatest treat
As sit him in a gay parterre,
With Madame who is too more sweet
Than every roses buttoning there.

181

E. H. Palmer.

HOW TO ASK AND HAVE

66 OH, 'tis time I should talk to your mother, Sweet Mary," says I;

"Oh, don't talk to my mother," says Mary,
Beginning to cry:

"For my mother says men are decaivers,
And never, I know, will consent;
She says girls in a hurry to marry,
At leisure repent."

"Then, suppose I should talk to your father, Sweet Mary," says I;

"Oh, don't talk to my father," says Mary, Beginning to cry:

"For my father he loves me so dearly,

He'll never consent I should go;If you talk to my father," says Mary, "He'll surely say 'No.'"

"Then how shall I get you, my jewel, Sweet Mary?" says I;

"If your father and mother's so cruel, Most surely I'll die!"

"Oh, never say die, dear," says Mary; "A way now to save you I see:

Since my parents are both so conthrairy,

You'd better ask me."

Samuel Lover.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY

Of all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like Pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

There's ne'er a lady in the land

That's half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets,
And through the streets does cry them;
Her mother she sells laces long

To such as please to buy them:
But sure such folk can have no part
In such a girl as Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes, like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely:
But let him bang, long as he will,
I'll bear it all for Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

Of all the days are in the week,

I dearly love but one day,

And that's the day that comes betwixt

A Saturday and Monday;

For then I'm dressed, all in my best,

To walk abroad with Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,

And lives in our alley.

False Love and True Logic
My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed,

Because I leave him in the lurch,
Soon as the text is named:

I leave the church in sermon time,
And slink away to Sally;

She is the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again,
Oh, then I shall have money;
I'll hoard it up and, box and all,
I'll give it to my honey;

Oh, would it were ten thousand pounds,
I'd give it all to Sally;

For she's the darling of my heart,
And lives in our alley.

My master, and the neighbors all,
Make game of me and Sally,
And but for her I'd better be
A slave, and row a galley

But when my seven long years are out,
Oh, then I'll marry Sally,

And then how happily we'll live

But not in our alley.

183

Henry Carey.

FALSE LOVE AND TRUE LOGIC

THE DISCONSOLATE

My heart will break-I'm sure it will:
My lover, yes, my favorite-he

Who seemed my own through good and ill—
Has basely turned his back on me.

THE COMFORTER

Ah! silly sorrower, weep no more;
Your lover's turned his back, we see;
But you had turned his head before,
And now he's as he ought to be.

Laman Blanchard.