CCCCXLIII.
Sylvia, sweet as morning air,
Do not drive me to despair:
Long have I sighed in vain,
Now I am come again,
Will you be mine or no, no-a-no,—
Will you be mine or no?
Simon pray leave off your suit,
For of your courting you'll reap no fruit,
I would rather give a crown
Than be married to a clown;
Go for a booby, go, no-a-no,—
Go, for a booby, go.