Page:Songs compleat, pleasant and divertive (Wit and mirth or, Pills to purge melancholy).djvu/175

 [Music ]

LOrd! what's come to my Mother, That every Day more than other, My true Age she would smother, And says I'm not in my Teens; Tho' my Sampler I've sown too, My Bib and my Apron out-grown too, Baby quite away thrown too, I wonder what 'tis she means; When our John does squeeze my Hand, And calls me sugar sweet, My Breath almost fails me, I know not what ails me, My Heart does so heave and so beat.

I have heard of Desires, From Girls that have just been of my Years, Love compar'd to sweet Bryers, That hurts, and yet does please: Is Love finer than Money, Or can it be sweeter than Honey, I'm poor Girl such a Toney, Evads that I cannot guess, But I'm sure I'll watch more near, There's something that Truth will shew, For if Love be a Blessing, To please beyond Kissing, Our Jane and our Butler does know.