Page:New mirror of love.pdf/13

 Here comes the sorry elf,

The man who rarely gets a bone

To pick, but chumps his crust alone,

That moulders on the shelf.

Behold him in his nook, I ween,

Where any thing but comfort’s seen,

Around his dingy hole;

Anon he darns his tatter’d hose,

Or cleans a napkin for his nose,

The groom of his own stole!

’Tis passing strange, the secret’s out,

Why who would pair with such a lout,

With ideas unrefin’d;—

Neglected and despis’d you live,

While inly to yourself you grieve,

The fair are so unkind.

, I know not in what words to convey the sense I have of your merit; custom prevents a female disclosing her affection to the object on whom her heart fondly doats, but if you knew how much I esteem and admire you, you would not thinkmeimprudent in declaring my passion I have frequently thought, before I committed this to paper, it is not so great an impropriety in expressing my regard first, and am very sure you can guess who the writer is; therefore, if