To switch with thee, my cockney Love.
But hills and valleys have their fears
For maidens of discreeter years;
And nymphs when they have had their tea
Like to digest it quietlie.
These sudden flights, and jumps, and shoots
Plunge hearts from bosoms into boots;
And where in flowering Arcadee
Flow founts of Sal Volatile?
Thy checks, thy tie, thy gilt of stud,