 | Poems, Epigrams and Sonnets |  |
THE MAID OF THE INN.
Kate! could I claim thee as “ma maîtresse,”
My joy would be, thou pretty waitress,
Myself on thee to wait, O,
To fill thy cup, to hand thy dish,
To serve in turn or fowl or fish,
Or pickle or potato.
My joy would be, thou pretty waitress,
Myself on thee to wait, O,
To fill thy cup, to hand thy dish,
To serve in turn or fowl or fish,
Or pickle or potato.
107
No! keep thy tray, my pretty maid.
By me thou shalt not be betray'd,
Nor with thee can I mate, O.
Still, still, the love I bear thee, Kate,
That love, sweet changer of my plate,
Shall be the love of Plato.
By me thou shalt not be betray'd,
Nor with thee can I mate, O.
Still, still, the love I bear thee, Kate,
That love, sweet changer of my plate,
Shall be the love of Plato.
| Poems, Epigrams and Sonnets | |