But Nancy’s iv’ries, oh, how clean!
And then her breath is sweet as roses;
And lips were never redder seen,
Nor aught more straight than Nancy’s nose is:
Oh, my black-eyed Nancy dear!
My pretty, roguish black-eyed Nancy!
How I prize
Your sloe-black eyes,
But squinting Peg’s I ne’er can fancy.
From The Spirit of the Public Journals, 1825.