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O Susan! Susan ! lovely dear!

My vows shall ever true remain !
Let me kiss off that falling tear-

We only part to meet again.
Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be
The faithful compass that still points to thee.
Believe not what the landmen say,

Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind;
They'll tell thee, sailors, when away,

In every port a mistress find-
Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thec so,
For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.
If to far India's coast we sail,

Thine eyes are seen in diamonds bright;
Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale,

Thy skin is ivory so white;
Thus ev'ry beauteous object that I view,
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue.
Tho' battle call me from thy arms,

Let not my pretty Susan mourn:
Tho' cannons roar, yet, safe from harms,

William shall to his dear return :
Love turns aside the balls that round me fly,
Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.

The boatswain gave the dreadful word,

The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard;

They kiss'd-she sigh'd-he hung his head : The lessening boat unwilling rows to landAdieu ! she cries, and waved her lily hand.

THE COMPLAINT.

The sun was sunk beneath the hill,

The western clouds were lin'd with gold. The sky was clear, the winds were still,

The flocks were pent within the fold; When from the silence of the grove, Poor Damon thus despair'd of love! Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose

From the bare rock, or oozy beach ;
Who from each barren weed that grows

Expects the grape, or blushing peach ;
With equal faith may hope to find
The truth of love in womankind.
I have no herds, no fleecy care,

No fields that wave with golden grain.
No pastures green, or gardens fair,

A woman's venal heart to gain : Then all in vain my sighs must prove, For I, alas ! have nought but love. How wretched is the faithful youth,

Since womens hearts are bought and sold ? They ask no vows of sacred truth,

Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold.
Gold can the frowns of scorn remove,
But I, alas ! have nought but love.
To buy the gems of India's coast,

What wealth, what treasure can suffice?
Yet India's shore shall never boast

The living lustre in thine eyes : For these the world too cheap would prove ; But I, alas ! have nought but love.

Then Mary! since nor gems, nor ore,

Can with thy brighter self compare,
Consider that I offer more,

Than glittering gems, a soul sincere :
Let riches meaner beauties move,
Who pays thy worth, must pay in love.

[This very beautiful Song is printed with many variations. I have selected the most poetical for the text, instead of “then Mary” some read “ o Silvia ?" It has been imputed to Gay ?)

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Of all the girls that are so smart,

There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land

Is half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em ;
Her mother she sells laces long,

To such as please to buy 'em:
But sure such folks cou'd ne'er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she 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 his belly full,

I'll bear it all for Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week,

I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt

The Saturday and Monday:
For then I'm drest in all my best,

To walk abroad with Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
My master carries me to church,

And often am I blamed,
Because I leave him in the lurch,

As soon as text is named:
I leave the church in sermon-time,

And slink away to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
When Christmas comes about again,

0! then I shall have money; I'll hoard it up and box and all,

I'll give it to my honey :
I wou'd it were ten thousand pound,

I'd give it all to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

My master, and the neighbours 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,

0! then I'll marry Sally,
0! then we'll wed, and then we'll bed,

But not in our alley.

[Carey in the third Edition of his Poems published in 1729, before “the Ballad of Sally in our Alley" has placed this note :

The Argument. "A vulgar error having long prevailed among many persons, who imagine Sally Salisbury the subject of this ballad, the Author begs leave to undeceive and assure them it has not the least allusion to her, he being a stranger to her very name at the time this Song was composed. For as innocence and virtue were ever the boundaries to his Muse, so in this little poem he had no other view than to set forth the beauty of a chaste and disinterested passion, even in the lowest class of human life. The real occasion was this: a Shoemaker's 'Prentice making holiday with his Sweetheart, treated her with a sight of Bedlam, the puppet-shews, the flying-chairs, and all the elegancies of Moor-fields: from whence proceeding to the Farthingpye-house, he gave her a collation of buns, cheese-cakes, gammon of bacon, stuff'd beef, and bottled ale; through all which scenes the Author dodg'd them (charm'd with the simplicity of their courtship), from whence he drew this little sketch of nature; but being then young and obscure, he was very much ridiculed by some of his acquaintance for this performance; which nevertheless made its way into the polite world, and amply recompensed him by the applause of the divine Addison, who was pleased (more than once) to mention it with approbation," p. 127.

This highly interesting note I have never seen added to any copy of the Song but that contained among the Author's works.]

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