Contentions

One throws milk on my clothes,
T'other plays with my nose;

What wanting signs are those?
Phillada flouts me.

I cannot work nor sleep

At all in season:

Love wounds my heart so deep

Without all reason

I 'gin to pine away
In my love's shadow,
Like as a fat beast may,
Penned in a meadow,
I shall be dead, I fear,
Within this thousand year:

And all for that my dear

Phillada flouts me.

699

Unknown

"WHEN MOLLY SMILES"

WHEN Molly smiles beneath her cow,
I feel my heart-I can't tell how;
When Molly is on Sunday dressed,
On Sundays I can take no rest.

What can I do? On worky days
I leave my work on her to gaze.
What shall I say? At sermons, I
Forget the text when Molly's by.

Good master curate, teach me how
To mind your preaching and my plow:
And if for this you'll raise a spell,
A good fat goose shall thank you well.

Unknown

CONTENTIONS

It was a lordling's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might be;
Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see
Her fancy fell a-turning.

Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight:
To put in practice either, alas! it was a spite

Unto the silly damsel.

But one must be refused: more mickle was the pain,
That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain;
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain:
Alas! she could not help it.

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day,
Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away;
Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gay;
For now my song is ended.

Unknown

"I ASKED MY FAIR, ONE HAPPY DAY"

AFTER LESSING

I ASKED my fair, one happy day,

What I should call her in my lay;

By what sweet name from Rome or Greece;

Lalage, Neæra, Chloris,

Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris,

Arethusa or Lucrece.

"Ah!" replied my gentle fair,

“Beloved, what are names but air?

Choose thou whatever suits the line;

Call me Sappho, call me Chloris,

Call me Lalage or Doris,

Only-only call me thine."

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

THE EXCHANGE

WE pledged our hearts, my love and I,—
I in my arms the maiden clasping:

I could not tell the reason why,
But oh! I trembled like an aspen.

"Green Grow the Rashes, O!" 701

Her father's love she bade me gain;
I went, and shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man-in vain!

We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

"COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE"

COMIN' through the rye, poor body,

Comin' through the rye,

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,

Comin' through the rye.

Oh Jenny's a' wat poor body,
Jenny's seldom dry;

She draiglet a' her petticoatie,
Comin' through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body,
Comin' through the rye,
Gin a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body
Comin' through the glen,
Gin a body kiss a body,

Need the warld ken?

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O!"

THERE'S naught but care on every han',
In every hour that passes, O!
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O?

Green grow the rashes, O!
Green grow the rashes, O!
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,

Are spent amang the lasses, O!

The warl❜ly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O!

An' though at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!

Gie me a canny hour at e'en;
My arms about my dearie, O!
An' warl❜ly cares, an' warl'ly men,
May a' gae tapsaltcerie, O!

For you sac douce, ye sneer at this;
Ye'er naught but senseless asses, O!
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw
He dearly loved the lasses, O!

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O!

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O!

Robert Burns [1759–1796]

DEFIANCE

CATCH her and hold her if you can-
See, she defies you with her fan,
Shuts, opens, and then holds it spread
In threatening guise above your head.
Ah! why did you not start before

She reached the porch and closed the door?
Simpleton! will you never learn

That girls and time will not return;

Of each you should have made the most;

Once gone, they are forever lost.

In vain your knuckles knock your brow,
In vain will you remember how
Like a slim brook the gamesome maid
Sparkled, and ran into the shade.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

"The Time I've Lost in Wooing" 703

OF CLEMENTINA

IN Clementina's artless mien
Lucilla asks me what I see,
And are the roses of sixteen
Enough for me?

Lucilla asks, if that be all,

Have I not culled as sweet before: Ah yes, Lucilla! and their fall

I still deplore.

I now behold another scene,

Where Pleasure beams with Heaven's own light,
More pure, more constant, more serene,
And not less bright.

Faith, on whose breast the Loves repose,
Whose chain of flowers no force can sever,

And Modesty who, when she goes,

Is gone for ever.

Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]

"THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING"

THE time I've lost in wooing,

In watching and pursuing

The light that lies

In woman's eyes,

Has been my heart's undoing.

Though Wisdom oft has sought me,
I scorned the lore she brought me,-
My only books

Were women's looks,

And folly's all they taught me.

Her smile when Beauty granted,
I hung with gaze enchanted,