Y passion is as mustard strong;
I fit all fober fad;
Drunk as a piper all day long;
Or like a March hare mad.
Round as a hoop the bumpers flow;
I drink, yet can't forget her;
For tho' as drunk as David's fow,
I love her ftill the better.
Pert as a pear-monger I'd be,
If Molly were but kind;
Cool as a cucumber cou'd fee
The reft of woman-kind.
Like a stuck pig I gaping ftare,
And eye her o'er and o'er ;
Lean as a rake, with fighs and care,
Sleek as a moufe before.
Plump as a partridge was I known,
And foft as filk my skin;
My cheeks as fat as butter grown,
But as a groat now thin.
I melancholy as a cat,
Am kept awake to weep;
But fhe, infenfible of that,
Sound as a top can sleep.
Hard is her heart as flint or stone;
She laughs to fee me pale;
And merry as a grig is grown,
And brisk as bottled-ale.
The god of love, at her approach,
Is bufy as a bee;
Hearts found as any bell or roach,
Are fmit, and figh like me.
Ah me! as thick as hops or hail,
The fine men crowd about her;
But foon as dead as a door nail
Shall I be, if without her.
Strait as my leg her shape appears;
O were we join'd together!
My heart wou'd be scot-free from cares,
And lighter than a feather.
As fine as five-pence is her mien,
No drum was ever tighter;
Her glance is as the razor keen,
And not the fun is brighter.
As foft as pap her kiffes are,
Methinks I taste them yet;
Brown as a berry is her hair;
Her eyes as black as jet:
As smooth as glass, as white as curds,
Her pretty hand invites;
Sharp as a needle are her words;
Her wit like pepper bites:
Brisk as a body-loufe fhe trips;
Clean as a penny dreft;
Sweet as a rose her breath and lips;
Round as a globe her breast.
Full as an egg was I with glee,
And happy as a king;
Good lack! how all men envy'd me! She lov'd like any thing.
But falfe as hell, fhe, like the wind, Chang'd, as her fex must do, Tho' seeming as the turtle kind, And as the gospel true.
If I and Molly cou'd agree,
Let who wou'd take Peru;
Great as an emp'ror fhou'd I be,
And richer than a few.
Till you grow tender`as a chick,
I'm dull as any post;'
Let us like burs together stick,
And warm as any toast.
You'll know me truer than a die,
And wish me better sped,
Flat as a flounder when I lie,
And as a herring dead.
Sure as a gun, fhe'll drop a tear,
And figh perhaps, and wish,
When I am rotten as a pear,
And mute as any fish.
o, no, I ne'er fhall love thee less,
For all thy fierce disdain;
So faft thy blooming charms increase,
Thy fparkling eyes my heart oppress,
Each glance renews my pain.
Yet muft I, fate, like bufy flies,
Still to thy brightness turn;
Pursue thee with my restless eyes,
Till, as each flaming blush does rifse,
Infenfibly I burn.
y heart inclines your chains to wear,
But reafon will not stoop;
I love that angel's face, but fear
The ferpent in your hoop.
Your eyes discharge the darts of love;
But oh! what pains fucceed,
When darts fhall pins and needles
And love a fire indeed?
The fly about the candle gay
Dances, with thoughtless hum;
But fhort, alas! his giddy play,
His pleasure proves his doom.
The child, in fuch fimplicity,
About the bee-hive clings,
And, with one drop of honey, he
Receives a thousand stings.
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