 | Young Arthur |  |
Fancy dipp'd her pen in dew,
Distill'd from leaves of gayest flowers;
Her paper from soft fibres grew,
Purloin'd from buds in rosy bowers;
Then she wrote a lay, to prove
Hearts might safely toy with love:
Archly smiling, Love was there,
And cried “of Fancy, maids, beware!”
Roguish Love took May dew then,
And from his wing a feather taking
He dipp'd it in, and chang'd her pen:
And all her lay seem'd Love's own making:
She wrote of love with such sweet art,
She read, and sigh'd, and lost her heart:
Archly jeering, Love was there,
And cried “of Fancy, maids, beware.”
Distill'd from leaves of gayest flowers;
Her paper from soft fibres grew,
Purloin'd from buds in rosy bowers;
Then she wrote a lay, to prove
Hearts might safely toy with love:
Archly smiling, Love was there,
And cried “of Fancy, maids, beware!”
165
And from his wing a feather taking
He dipp'd it in, and chang'd her pen:
And all her lay seem'd Love's own making:
She wrote of love with such sweet art,
She read, and sigh'd, and lost her heart:
Archly jeering, Love was there,
And cried “of Fancy, maids, beware.”
| Young Arthur | |