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Was underneath the May blown buſh,

where violets blow & ſweet primroſes,

With voice melodious as the thruſh,

young Roger ſat collecting poſies;

Theſe to the heart muſt be convey'd,

of her who ſways any deareſt fancy,

My tender, bluſhing, blooming maid,

my ſmiling, mild, good-natur'd Nancy.

I know that ſome her youth will jeer,

and call me witleſs ca'ſ, and zanny,

But I from conſtant heart declare,

I none will wed except my Nanny;

I envy not their pomp and dreſs,

nor conqueſts made o'er hearts of many,

The ſtudy of my life's to bleſs,

and pleaſe my dear my graceful Nanny.

How much unlike my fair to thoſe,

whoſe wanton looks are free to any,

I'd give the world could I diſcloſe,

the fifteenth part the worth of Nanny;

Let bucks and bloods in burnt champaign,

toaſt Lucy, Charlotte, Poll, and Fanny,

At nothing ſo abſur'd and vain,

I'd ſmile and claſp my blameleſs Nanny.