SONGS OF THE SEEDY.—No. VI.
You bid me rove, Mary,
In the shady grove, Mary,
With you to the close of even;
But I can’t, my dear,
For I must, I swear,
Be off at a quarter to seven.
Nay, do not start, Mary;
Nor let your heart, Mary,
Be disturb’d in its innocent purity;
I’m sure that you
Wouldn’t have me do
My friend—my bail—my security!
That tearful eye, Mary,
Seems to ask me why, Mary,
I can wait till sunset on’y.
Ah! turn not away;
I am out for the day
On a Fleet and fleeting pony.
Your wide open mouth, Mary,
With its breath like the south, Mary,
Seems to ask for an explanation.
Well, though not of the schools,
I live within rules,
And am subject to observation.
But come to my arms, Mary;
Let no dread alarms, Mary,
In our present happiness warp us!
I’ve not the least doubt
Of soon getting out,
By a writ of habeas corpus.
Away with despair, Mary;
Let us cast in the air, Mary,
His dark and gloomy fetters.
Why should we be rack’d,
When we think of the Act
For relieving Insolvent Debtors.