 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
CONTENTMENT.
The poachers for fortune who damsels ensnare,
With dress and addresses deceive;
To lasses of wealth how those miscreants swear,
And, alas! how the lasses believe.
With dress and addresses deceive;
To lasses of wealth how those miscreants swear,
And, alas! how the lasses believe.
Nay, some ladies seem to expect being lost,
They trust whom they know are forsworn,
They listen to him who has ruin'd the most,
And hope to be ruin'd in turn.
They trust whom they know are forsworn,
They listen to him who has ruin'd the most,
And hope to be ruin'd in turn.
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Can this be believ'd?—no!—the song-maker jokes,
'Tis the tale of a slanderous crew;
A sigh!—then I fear that there may be some folks
Who are sorry to say it is true.
'Tis the tale of a slanderous crew;
A sigh!—then I fear that there may be some folks
Who are sorry to say it is true.
But when love for love is received on each side,
How tenderness smiles on the pair;
This, this is a triumph, and this is my pride,
I enjoy such a favourite fair.
How tenderness smiles on the pair;
This, this is a triumph, and this is my pride,
I enjoy such a favourite fair.
No paint in her face,—no art in her mind,
Her thoughts are explain'd by her eyes;
From principle faithful, from gratitude kind,
And scorns the deceit of disguise.
Her thoughts are explain'd by her eyes;
From principle faithful, from gratitude kind,
And scorns the deceit of disguise.
All along on the slope, by the side of a stream,
Our hours we happily pass;
My head on her lap, while my love is her theme,
And my looks I lift up to my lass.
Our hours we happily pass;
My head on her lap, while my love is her theme,
And my looks I lift up to my lass.
Enjoying the breeze from the fields of new hay,
We gather the summer's sweet pride;
Or point to the brook where the small fishes play,
And count them beneath the clear tide.
We gather the summer's sweet pride;
Or point to the brook where the small fishes play,
And count them beneath the clear tide.
In rooms rich embellish'd with luxury's store,
Let wealth pamper'd Indolence yawn;
Let Wantonness act her deliriums o'er,
'Till dupes to her dungeon are drawn.
Let wealth pamper'd Indolence yawn;
Let Wantonness act her deliriums o'er,
'Till dupes to her dungeon are drawn.
Let common-place fondness her blandishments spread,
And tempt by the tiolet's parade;
The squeeze, the soft sigh, wanton glance, and sly tread,
Are pantomime tricks of her trade.
And tempt by the tiolet's parade;
The squeeze, the soft sigh, wanton glance, and sly tread,
Are pantomime tricks of her trade.
I have try'd, and can tell,—I have frolick'd away,
And follow'd the fashion of Fun;
The same farce have acted that's play'd at this day,
And while the world wheels will be done.
And follow'd the fashion of Fun;
The same farce have acted that's play'd at this day,
And while the world wheels will be done.
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |