Page:Comical history of the collier's wedding.pdf/7

 7 She juſt cou'd ſay, oh!— let me go?

I'm ſpent, undone, O lack a-day!

What can I either do or ſay?

Was ever laſs in my condition?

For heaven's ſake here but my petition,

Unfold your arms and give me air

And let me reſt upon my chair,

I faint, O!— Tommy cut my lace,

And throw my apron o'er my face.

As when in wars great gen'rals fight,

For honour, victory, or right,

When they ſtorm citadel or town,

And blow the forts and bulwarks down;

When thoſe within can hold no longer,

Becauſe the enemy is ſtronger,

Make ſignal that they do ſurrender.

By colour dropt, or ſome ſuch tender,

So now our conquer'd yielding maid,

Drops both her colour and her head;

The woman works in ev'ry vain,

And life not ſpent returns again,

A riſing bluſh attempts her face,

But fear at firſt denies its place;

With languid looks and downcaſt eyes,

She ſees her lover in ſurpriſe;

is griev'd to think ſhe makes him ſmart,

Yet fears to tell he's won her heart;

Her cheek with modeſt bluſhes burn,

And ſmiies increaſe as life return,

Then ſtruggling for to ſhew her mind,

Her looks declare ſhe wou'd be kind,

Yet cou'd not ſpeak to let him know,

Your modeſt maids are aſway ſo.