Page:Wicked wife.pdf/4

( 6 ) The Sun sheds his beams, my Mary, on the white-bloſſom'd Hawthorn tree; But his beams are nought to me, Mary, compar'd with thy love-glancing e'e.

The Wood-lark ſings ſweet, my Mary, at eve, in the green leafy grove; But his ſtrains are full ſweeter, my Mary, when with thee I joyfully rove. Haſte then to the glen, my Mary, ere ſummer frae us will he gane: O ſay that thou loveſt me Mary, 'twill eaſe my fond heart o; its pain.





UP WITH THE ORANGE.

give both great and ſmall, I've got a Song that will pleaſe you all, Now has run away, He's afraid to fight another day; He is only gone to tak a nap, And lay his head on Lucy's lap: Dear ſtay at home, ſays she, And go no more to Germany.