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OR THE FAIR MAID OF THE INN,
Says my uncle, “ I pray you discover
What hath been the cause of your woes, That you pine and you whine like a lover?"
I have seen Molly Mog of the Rose.' O nephew! your grief is but folly,
In Town you may find better prog; Half-a-crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mog.'
'I know that by wits 'tis recited
That women at best are a clog ; But I'm not so easily frighted
From loving of sweet Molly Mog.
* The schoolboy's desire is a play-day,
The schoolmaster's joy is to flog ;
But mine is on sweet Molly Mog.
Will-a-Wisp leads the traveller gadding
Through ditch, and thro' quagmire, and bog; But no light can set me a madding
Like the eyes of my sweet Molly Mog.
• For guineas in other men's breeches
Your gamesters' will palm and will cog; But I envy them none of their riches,
So I may win sweet Molly Mog.
• The heart when half wounded is changing,
It here and there leaps like a frog ; But my heart can never be ranging,
'Tis so fix'd upon sweet Molly Mog.
• Who follows all ladies of pleasure,
In pleasure is thought but a hog;
Of joys as my sweet Molly Mog.
• I feel I'm in love to distraction,
My senses all lost in a fog,
But thinking of sweet Molly Mog.
• A letter when I am inditing,
Comes Cupid and gives me a jog, And I fill all the paper with writing
Of nothing but sweet Molly Mog.
• If I would not give up the three graces,
I wish I were hang'd like a dog,
For a glance of my sweet Molly Mog.
• Those faces want nature and spirit,
And seem as cut out of a log ; Juno, Venus, and Pallas's merit
Unite in my sweet Molly Mog.
· Those who toast all the family royal,
In bumpers of Hogan and Nog,
Than mine to my sweet Molly Mog.
Were Virgil alive with his Phillis,
And writing another eclogue,
He'd give up for sweet Molly Mog.
• When she smiles on each guest, like her liquor,
Then jealousy sets me agog ;
And so I shall lose Molly Mog.'
[This clever and witty ballad, though of great length, is very frequently sung; it was written on an innkeeper's daughter at Oakingham in Berkshire, a celebrated beauty and toast,]
YOUTH'S THE SEASON MADE FOR JOYS.
Youth's the season made for joys,
Love is then our duty,
Let's be gay
While we may,
Let us drink and sport to-day,
Ours is not to-morrow;
Dance and sing,
Time's on the wing,
(From the " Beggar's Opera."]
Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace;
How happy should I prove,
With never fading love;
More fragrant roses there;
With envy and despair.
[From the fable of “ The Poet and the Rose,” thus introduced :
As in the cool of early day
All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d,
The streamers waving in the wind, When black-ey'd Susan came on board,
*Oh! where shall I my true love find ? * Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 'If my sweet William sail among the crew.' William, then high upon the yard,
Rock'd with the billows to and fro,
He sigh’d, and cast his eyes below;
Shuts close his pinions to his breast,
And drops at once into her nest.