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144
DIRECTIONS TO THE PAGE.
BALLAD.
INVERTED FROM THE FRENCH.
The wine-cup draught has lost its zest,
Music's sweet spell hath left me!
My towers have lodg'd a treacherous guest,
Who has of joy bereft me.
Oh Page, intruders here may roam,
Then take thy sad Lord's orders,
Of all to whom I'll be at home,
Who chance to cross our borders!
Music's sweet spell hath left me!
My towers have lodg'd a treacherous guest,
Who has of joy bereft me.
Oh Page, intruders here may roam,
Then take thy sad Lord's orders,
Of all to whom I'll be at home,
Who chance to cross our borders!
If Learning knocks, say I'm engag'd,
But bid her call to-morrow;
If Revel! that I'm much enrag'd!
For she but brings me sorrow.
To Friendship, hint I'd be alone;
That I'm unwell, tell Science;
If Business calls, to town I've flown!
If War, bid him defiance!
But bid her call to-morrow;
If Revel! that I'm much enrag'd!
For she but brings me sorrow.
145
That I'm unwell, tell Science;
If Business calls, to town I've flown!
If War, bid him defiance!
But, ah! if Love, false boy, should come,
With no excuse deceive him!
Though false, I cannot bid him roam,
But must again receive him.
Though he has robb'd my heart of rest,
From Love I cannot sever;
He still will be a welcome guest,
Will still be dear as ever!
With no excuse deceive him!
Though false, I cannot bid him roam,
But must again receive him.
Though he has robb'd my heart of rest,
From Love I cannot sever;
He still will be a welcome guest,
Will still be dear as ever!
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