Grey grows my hair and dismal age draws nigh,
Wilt thou not cease the tyrant's part to play?
Thou seem'st a very Turk for cruelty,
Of Barbary a very Turk I say;
I know not why thy love thou dost deny,
Or why with hate my love thou dost repay.
This may be compared with a song taken down from the mouth of a peasant near Reggio, an amusing illustration of the kind of thing in favour with Calabrian herdsmen:—
Angelical thou art and not terrene,
Who dost kings' wives excel in loveliness!