He left his Mary late at night,
And had succeeded in the main,
No sooner peep'd the morning light
But he was on the road again!
Suppose she should refuse her hand?
Such thoughts will come, I know not why;
Shall I, without a wife or land,
Want an old horse? then wherefore buy?
Perplexity
From bush to bush, from stile to stile,
Perplex'd he trod the fallow ground,
And told his money all the while
And weigh'd the matter round and round.
"I'll borrow," that's the best thought yet;
Mary shall save the horse's life.—
Kind-hearted wench! what, run in debt
Before I know she'll be my wife?
These women wo'nt speak plain and free.—
Well, well, I'll keep my service still;
She has not said she'd marry me,
But yet I dare to say she will.
A fresh Thought—Turns back.
But while I take this shay brain'd course,
And like a fool run to and fro,
Master, perhaps, may sell the horse!
Therefore this instant home I'll go.
The nightly rains had drench'd the grove,
He plung'd right on with headlong pace;
A man but half as much in love
Perhaps had found a cleaner place.
The day rose fair; with team a-field,
He watch'd the farmer's cheerful brow;
And in a lucky hour reveal'd
His secret at his post, the plough.