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 Tom he thought himſelf quite happy,

while he walk'd the new mown hay;

By the brink of a cryſtal river,

joining to a ſhady grove;

Cupid being a cunning maſter,

he pierc'd him with the dart of love.

A thouſand goddeſſes furrounded,

to divert the lovely pair,

Polly's beauty, Tom confounded,

love's paſſion wrought him to deſpair :

How to gain this lovely creature.

you god of love pray let me know,

Muſt I, ſhall I, kiſs you Polly,

ſtill ſhe anſwer'd no, no, no.

To a tavern ſtraight he brought her,

gave her liquor of the beſt,

By the hand he often ſhook her,

ſaying, I love you the beſt.

Poll grew warm and thought no harm,

after a harmleſs glaſs or two,

To what be faid, the ſilly maid,

could hardly anſwer no, no, no.

Madam, your ſmiles are ſo engaging,

and your bright eyes do me confound,

Let my perſuaſions be prevailing,

for you have giv'n a mortal wound.

By the hand he ſoftly preſs'd her,

ſaying, My darling, don't be coy,

Muſt i, ſhall I, kiſs you, Polly,

then ſhe anſwer'd ay, ay, ay.