 | The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth |  |
LOVE'S LEGER.
I own myself your debtor, love,
For 't is to you my bliss I owe,
Then say if I'd not better, love,
Repay the balance kiss I owe?
In justice you'll receipt it, love,
And prove that you are true to me;
If I should then repeat it, love,
There'll be a balance due to me
For 't is to you my bliss I owe,
Then say if I'd not better, love,
Repay the balance kiss I owe?
In justice you'll receipt it, love,
And prove that you are true to me;
If I should then repeat it, love,
There'll be a balance due to me
62
That little urchin Cupid, love,
The only clerk we keep, you know,
Is either blind or stupid, love,
And apt to fall asleep, you know.
'T is best, then, thus to jog him, love,
And make him earn his pay, you know;
For, should we chide or slog him, love,
The boy might run away, you know.
The only clerk we keep, you know,
Is either blind or stupid, love,
And apt to fall asleep, you know.
'T is best, then, thus to jog him, love,
And make him earn his pay, you know;
For, should we chide or slog him, love,
The boy might run away, you know.
The rogue possesses talents, love,
His pinions furnish quills, you know,
And when he strikes a balance, love,
He must inspect our bills, you know.
Then let us ne'er dispute, my love,
While Time enjoyment rifles so,
But take a kiss to boot, my love,
I can not stand on trifles so.
His pinions furnish quills, you know,
And when he strikes a balance, love,
He must inspect our bills, you know.
Then let us ne'er dispute, my love,
While Time enjoyment rifles so,
But take a kiss to boot, my love,
I can not stand on trifles so.
Short reck'nings make long friends, my love,
Accounts should ne'er be running so,
Then let us make amends, my love,
For 't is unpleasant dunning so.
Through life's allotted term, my love,
If thus we do n't forget we owe,
When death dissolves the firm, my love,
We'll pay the only debt we owe.
Accounts should ne'er be running so,
Then let us make amends, my love,
For 't is unpleasant dunning so.
Through life's allotted term, my love,
If thus we do n't forget we owe,
When death dissolves the firm, my love,
We'll pay the only debt we owe.
| The poetical works of Samuel Woodworth | |