That’s constantly sneaking about.
Each man speaks her fair, and importunes
In all the best language that’s known;
And happy were he could tell fortunes,
To know if the girl were his own.
John Robson, Joe Bowman, Will Little,
With her would spend nights over days;
Each glance of her eyes is so smittle,
That all men are catch’d if they gaze:
She strikes them quite thro’ with love stitches,