From her own room, in summer’s softest eve,
Stept Celia forth, her Delia to receive—
Joy in her looks, that half her tale declared:
C. War and the waves my fav’rite Youth have spared;
Faithful and fond, through many a painful year,
My Charles will come——Do give me joy, my dear!
D. I give you joy, and so may he; but still,
’Tis right to question, if ’tis sure he will;
A sailor’s open honest heart we prize;
But honest sailors have their ears and eyes. 10