 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
THE PIPE OF LOVE.
One primrose time, a maiden brown,
Wishing for what we will not say,
By side of shepherd sat her down,
And softly ask'd him, wou'd he play?
Mild shone the sun through redstreak morn,
And glist'ning dew-drops pearl'd the grass;
The rustic, stretch'd beneath the thorn,
Grinning, reply'd—I'll please thee, Lass.
Wishing for what we will not say,
By side of shepherd sat her down,
And softly ask'd him, wou'd he play?
Mild shone the sun through redstreak morn,
And glist'ning dew-drops pearl'd the grass;
The rustic, stretch'd beneath the thorn,
Grinning, reply'd—I'll please thee, Lass.
All on the green field's turfy bed,
Smiling, the fond one fell along;
The thick-leaf shade her face o'erspread.
While, lisping, she began this song:—
“'Tis love which gives life holydays,
“And Love, I'll always take thy part;
“My shepherd's pipe so sweetly plays,
“It finds the way to win my heart.
Smiling, the fond one fell along;
The thick-leaf shade her face o'erspread.
While, lisping, she began this song:—
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“And Love, I'll always take thy part;
“My shepherd's pipe so sweetly plays,
“It finds the way to win my heart.
“The ladies dress'd with silks so fine,
“In golden chairs to visits go;
“On costly dishes they can dine,
“And ev'ry night see ev'ry shew:
“Yet, if 'tis true what I've heard speak,
“Those high degrees lead lonely lives;
“Husbands are wilful, husbands weak,
“And seldom pipe to please their wives.”
“In golden chairs to visits go;
“On costly dishes they can dine,
“And ev'ry night see ev'ry shew:
“Yet, if 'tis true what I've heard speak,
“Those high degrees lead lonely lives;
“Husbands are wilful, husbands weak,
“And seldom pipe to please their wives.”
Blue brok the clouds, the day yet young,
The flowers fragrant fill'd the breeze;
Wanton the lass, half whisp'ring, sung,
Yes, shepherd,—once more, if you please.
Awaking from embrac'd delight,
She heard her dame, and dar'd not stay;
They kiss, they part, but first—at night,
She charg'd him, come again and play.
The flowers fragrant fill'd the breeze;
Wanton the lass, half whisp'ring, sung,
Yes, shepherd,—once more, if you please.
Awaking from embrac'd delight,
She heard her dame, and dar'd not stay;
They kiss, they part, but first—at night,
She charg'd him, come again and play.
His teem to geer, home hy'd the loon,
The love-cheer'd lass blithe bore her pail,
And thus she gave her ditty tune,
Tripping it deftly down the dale:
“Tho' organ-pipes play music fine,
“And founsain-pipes folks run to see;
“Tho' thirsty souls love pipes of wine,
“The pipe of love's the pipe for me.”
The love-cheer'd lass blithe bore her pail,
And thus she gave her ditty tune,
Tripping it deftly down the dale:
“Tho' organ-pipes play music fine,
“And founsain-pipes folks run to see;
“Tho' thirsty souls love pipes of wine,
“The pipe of love's the pipe for me.”
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |