SONGS FOR THE SEEDY.—No. 3.
Oh! think not all who call thee fair
Are in their honied words sincere;
And if they offer jewels rare,
Lend not too readily thine ear.
The humble ring I lately gave
May be despised by thee—well, let it;
But Mary, when I’m in my grave,
Think that I pawn’d my watch to get it.
Others may talk of feasts of love,
And banqueting upon thy charms;
But did not I devotion prove,
Last Sunday, at the Stanhope Arms?
My rival order’d tea for four,
The waiter at his bidding laid it;
He generously ran the score,
But, Mary, I did more,—I paid it.
I know he’s dashing, bold, and free,
A front of Jove, an eye of fire;
But should he say he loves like me,
I’d, like Apollo, strike the lyre.
He says, he at your feet will throw
His all; and, if his vows are steady,
He cannot equal me—for, oh!
I’ve given you all I had, already.
Mary, I had a second suit
Of clothes, of which the coat was braided;
Mary, they went to buy that flute
With which I thee have serenaded.
Mary, I had a beaver hat,
Than this I wear a great deal better;
Mary, I’ve parted too with that,
For pens, ink, paper—for this letter.