The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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HODGES CONFESSION |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
HODGES CONFESSION
Peggy ye might bin my death wi yer scorning
Im sure tis yer pleasure to do as ye may
For ere sin I helpd ye to milk in the morning
Yeve 'ployd all my thoughts for the rest of the day
Yer sweet slender body so light & so jimping
Yer arms so well shapd & yer brown curley hair
Yer gait so belady like spoilt wi no limping
Left ye the power to gi joy or despair
Im sure tis yer pleasure to do as ye may
For ere sin I helpd ye to milk in the morning
Yeve 'ployd all my thoughts for the rest of the day
Yer sweet slender body so light & so jimping
Yer arms so well shapd & yer brown curley hair
Yer gait so belady like spoilt wi no limping
Left ye the power to gi joy or despair
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'Sides ere I left ye the breezes to plague me
Puffd by the screne of yer bosom so white
& sure as Im living no shock of an ague
Coud totter me more then I shook at the sight
& ye bowd yer head so & blusht to expose em
Panting new charms I before never saw
Daisey white hills swelling high on yer bosom
Ye might taen & beaten me down wi a straw
Puffd by the screne of yer bosom so white
& sure as Im living no shock of an ague
Coud totter me more then I shook at the sight
& ye bowd yer head so & blusht to expose em
Panting new charms I before never saw
Daisey white hills swelling high on yer bosom
Ye might taen & beaten me down wi a straw
& had ye wi shepherd or ploughmen bin suited
& bluntly denyd me the hopes of a wife
As sure as Im living my loves so deep rooted
Yed bin the sad causings of ending my life
Ye neednt go smile peg I tell the plain truth ont
As safe as our love i' the mornings begun
Had ye but denyd broken hearted forsooth ont
Yed seen me stone dead by the set of the sun
& bluntly denyd me the hopes of a wife
As sure as Im living my loves so deep rooted
Yed bin the sad causings of ending my life
Ye neednt go smile peg I tell the plain truth ont
As safe as our love i' the mornings begun
Had ye but denyd broken hearted forsooth ont
Yed seen me stone dead by the set of the sun
| The early poems of John Clare | |