Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 17.djvu/444



SAYS my uncle, I pray you discover What hath been the cause of your woes, Why you pine and you whine like a lover; I've seen Molly Mog of the Rose.

O nephew! your grief is but folly; In town you may find better prog; Half a crown there will get you a Molly, A Molly much better than Mog.

I know that by wits 'tis recited, That women at best are a clog: But I'm not so easily frighted; From loving my sweet Molly Mog.

The schoolboy's delight is a play-day; The schoolmaster's joy is to flog; The milkmaid's delight is on Mayday; But mine is on sweet Molly Mog.

Will-o'-wisp leads the traveller a gadding Thro' ditch, and thro' quagmire and bog: But no light can set me a madding, Like the eyes of my sweet Molly Mog.

For guineas in other men's breeches Your gamesters will palm and will cog: But