In town let me live then,été in town let me die, For in truth I can’t relish the country, not I. If one must have a villa in summer to dwell, O, give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall! _Charles Morris._
IF doughty deeds my lady please, Right soon I’ll mount my steed; And strong his arm, and fast his seat, That bears frae me the meed. I’ll wear thy colors in my cap, Thy picture in my heart; And he that bends not to thine eye Shall rue it to his smart. Then tell me how to woo thee, love; Oh, tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake, nae care I’ll take, Though ne’er another trow me.
If gay attire delight thine eye, I’ll dight me in array; I’ll tend thy chamber door all night, And squire thee all the day. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, These sounds I’ll strive to catch; Thy voice I’ll steal to woo thysel’— That voice that none can match. _Then tell me how to woo thee, love_, etc.
But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow; Nae maiden lays her skaith to me; I never loved but you. For you alone I ride the ring, For you I wear the blue; For you alone I strive to sing— Oh, tell me how to woo! _Then tell me how to woo thee, love, etc._ _Robert Graham._
I NE’ER could any lustre see In eyes that would not look on me; I ne’er saw nectar on a lip, But where my own did hope to sip. Has the maid who seeks my heart Cheeks of rose, untouched by art? I will own thy color true, When yielding blushes aid their hue. Is her hand so soft and pure? I must press it, to be sure; Nor can I be certain then, Till it, grateful, press again. Must I, with attentive eye, Watch her heaving bosom sigh? I will do so when I see That heaving bosom sigh for me. _Richard Brinsley Sheridan._
O GEORGE! I’ve been, I’ll tell you where, But first prepare yourself for raptures; To paint this charming heavenly fair, And paint her well, would ask whole chapters.
Fine creatures I’ve viewed many a one, With lovely shapes and angel faces, But I have seen them all outdone By this sweet maid, at —— Races.
Lords, Commoners, alike she rules, Takes all who view her by surprise, Makes e’en the wisest look like fools, Nay more, makes fox-hunters look wise.
Her shape—’tis elegance and ease, Unspoiled by art or modern dress, But gently tapering by degrees, And finely, “beautifully less.”