 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
166
THE Simple MAID.
Blouzelinda
one Day, as she lay on the Plain,
Was surpris'd in her Breast with a tickling Pain,
She had often heard talk of a Season
Of Pressing,
Caressing,
Of Hugging and Sighing,
Of Melting and Dying,
But never knew what was the Reason.
Was surpris'd in her Breast with a tickling Pain,
She had often heard talk of a Season
Of Pressing,
Caressing,
Of Hugging and Sighing,
Of Melting and Dying,
But never knew what was the Reason.
As Bumkinet chanc'd to be stroling that Way,
He tumbl'd and towzl'd the Lass as she lay,
And told her that this was the Season
Of Pressing,
Caressing,
Of Hugging and Sighing,
Of Melting and Dying;
She lik'd it, as something of Reason.
He tumbl'd and towzl'd the Lass as she lay,
167
Of Pressing,
Caressing,
Of Hugging and Sighing,
Of Melting and Dying;
She lik'd it, as something of Reason.
When the Towzling was over, up Bumkinet rose,
The Damsel began for to smooth down her Cloaths,
Extremely well pleas'd with his Reason,
For Pressing,
Caressing,
For Hugging and Sighing,
For Melting and Dying,
And wish'd it was always in Season.
The Damsel began for to smooth down her Cloaths,
Extremely well pleas'd with his Reason,
For Pressing,
Caressing,
For Hugging and Sighing,
For Melting and Dying,
And wish'd it was always in Season.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |