Place on my breast, if still you doubt,
Your hand, but no rough pressure making,
And, if you listen, you’ll find out,
How throbs a little heart when breaking.
* * * * *
Both old maids and young ones, the witless and wise
Gain husbands at pleasure, while none will me prize;
Ah! why should the swains think so meanly of me,
And I full as comely as any they see!
* * * * *
From this world all in time must move,
’Tis known to every simple swain;
And ’twere as well to die of love
As any other mortal pain.
* * * * *
’Tis noised abroad, where’er one goes,
And I am fain to hear,
That no one in the country knows
The girl to me most dear:
And, ’tis so true, that scarce I wot,
If I know well myself or not.
* * * * *
What noise and scandal fill my ear,
One half the world to censure prone!
Of all the faults that thus I hear,
None yet have told me of their own.
* * * * *