In battle's wild commotion,

The proud and mighty Mars
With hostile scythes demands his tithes

Of death in warlike cars ;
While Peggy, peaceful goddess,

Has darts in her bright eye,
That knock men down in the market town,

As right and left they fly;
While she sits in her low-backed car,
Than battle more dangerous far, —

For the doctor's art

Cannot cure the heart,
That is hit from that low-backed car.

Her mother she sells laces long

To such as please to buy 'em ;
But sure such folks could ne'er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
When she is by I leave my work,

I love her so sincerely ;
My master comes like any Turk,

And bangs me most severely.
But let him bang his bellyful, —

I'll bear it all for Sally ;
For she 's the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.
Of all the days that's in the week

I dearly love but one day,
And that's the day that comes betwixt

The Saturday and Monday ;
For then I 'm drest all in my best

To walk abroad with Sally ;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir,

Has strings of ducks and geese,
But the scores of hearts she slaughters

By far outnumber these ;
While she among her poultry sits,

Just like a turtle-dove,
Well worth the cage, I do engage,

Of the blooming god of Love ! While she sits in her low-backed car, The lovers come near and far,

And envy the chicken

That Peggy is pickin',
As she sits in her low-backed car.

My master carries me to church,

And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch

As soon as text is named : I leave the church in sermon-time,

And slink away to Sally, — She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

o, I'd rather own that car, sir,

With Peggy by my side,
Than a coach and four, and gold galore,

And a lady for my bride ;
For the lady would sit forninst me,

On a cushion made with taste,
While Peggy would sit beside me,

With my arm around her waist, While we drove in the low-backed car, To be married by Father Mahar ;

0, my heart would beat high

At her glance and her sigh, — Though it beat in a low-backed car!

SAMUEL LOVER.

When Christmas comes about again,

0, then I shall have money! I'll hoard it up, and, box and all,

I'll give it to my honey ;
O, would it were ten thousand pound !

I'd give it all to Sally ;
For she's the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

Of all the girls that are so smart

There's none like pretty Sally ; She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land

Is half so sweet as Sally ; She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. O LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the

best! If fifty girls were around you, I'd hardly see the I. rest;

Her father le makes cabbage-nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em;

I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band o' luve, And I'll place it in her breast, and I 'll swear by

a' above, That to my latest draught o' life the band shall

ne'er remove : And this will be a posie to my ain dear May.

ROBERT BURNS.

Though they deck no princely halls, In bouquets for glittering balls,

My gentle Mary Lee ! Richer hues than painted walls

Will make them dear to thee; For the blue and laughing sky Spreads a grander canopy Than all wealth's golden skill,

My charming Mary Lee ! Love would make them dearer still,

That offers them to thee.

My wreathéd flowers are few,
Yet no fairer drink the dew,

My bonny Mary Lee !
They may seem as trifles too,

Not, I hope, to thee;
Some may boast a richer prize
Under pride and wealth's disguise ;
None a fonder offering bore

Than this of mine to thee;
And can true love wish for more!
Surely not, Mary Lee !

JOHN CLARE.

ANNIE LAURIE.

MARY LEE.
I HAVE traced the valleys fair
In May morning's dewy air,

My bonny Mary Lee !
Wilt thou deign the wreath to wear,

Gathered all for thee?
They are not flowers of Pride,
For they graced the dingle-side ;
Yet they grew in Heaven's smile,

My gentle Mary Lee !
Can they fear thy frowns the while

Though offered by me ?
Here 's the lily of the vale,
That perfumed the morning gale,

My fairy Mary Lee !
All so spotless and so pale,

Like thine own purity.
And might I make it known,
"T is an emblem of my own
Love, - if I dare so name

My esteem for thee.
Surely flowers cạn bear no blame,

My bonny Mary Lee.
Here's the violet's modest blue,
That 'neath hawthorns hides from view,

My gentle Mary Lee,
Would show whose heart is true,

While it thinks of thee.
While they choose each lowly spot,
The sun disdains them not;
I'm as lowly too, indeed,

My charming Mary Lee;
So I've brought the flowers to plead,

And win a smile from thee.
Here's a wild rose just in bud;
Spring's beauty in its hood,

My bonny Mary Lee !
"T is the first in all the wood

I could find for thee.
Though a blush is scarcely seen,
Yet it hides its worth within,
Like my love ; for I've no power,

My angel Mary Lee,
To speak unless the flower

Can make excuse for me.

MAXWELTON braes are bonnie
Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gie'l me her promise true, —
Gie'd me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be ;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw drift;
Her throat is like the swan ;
Her face it is the fairest
That e'er the sun shone on, —
That e'er the sun shone on;
And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
And like the winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet, -
Her voice is low and sweet ;
And she's a' the world to me;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doune and dee.

ANONYMOUS

LOVE IS A SICKNESS.

Love is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing ;
A plant that most with cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.

Why so ?
More we enjoy it, more it dies
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries

Heigh-ho !

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill :

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe As doth the king at every tide or syth,

And blither too ; For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, When shepherds laugh, and love upon the land :

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ?

Love is a torment of the mind,

A tempest everlasting ;
And Jove hath made it of a kind,
Not well, nor full, nor fasting.

Why so ?
More we enjoy it, more it dies ;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries

Heigh-ho !

ROBERT GREENE.

TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE.

SAMUEL DANIEL.

AH! WHAT IS LOVE?

When Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.
Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than hers can hear ;
No other wit but hers approve ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

If she some other swain commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When she is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before,
The clearest spring, ihe shadiest grove ;
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

An! what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,

And sweeter too ;
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest face to frown :

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? His flocks are folded ; he comes home at night As merry as a king in his delight,

Ånd merrier too ; For kings bethink then what the state require, Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire :

Ah then, ah then, If country love such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curd as doth the king his meat,

And blither too; For kings have often fears when they sup, Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup :

Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? Upon his conch of straw he sleeps as sound As doth the king upon his beds of down,

More sounder too ;

Yet Love hath echoes truer far

And far more sweet Tan e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, Of horn or lute or soft guitar

The songs repeat.

Like fire in logs, it glows and warms 'em long; And though the flame be not so great,

Yet is the heat as strong.

EARL OF DORSET.

THE AGE OF WISDOM.
Ho! pretty page, with the dimpled chin,

That never has known the barber's shear,
All your wish is woman to win ;
This is the way that boys begin, —

Wait till you come to forty year. Curly gold locks cover foolish brains ;

Billing and cooing is all your cheer, — Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, Under Bonnybell's window-panes, —

Wait till you come to forty year.
Forty times over let Michaelmas pass ;

Grizzling hair the brain doth clear ;
Then you know a boy is an ass,
Then you know the worth of a lass, –

Once you have come to forty year.
Pledge me round; I bid ye declare,

All good fellows whose beards are gray, —
Did not the fairest of the fair
Common grow and wearisome ere

Ever a month was past away?
The reddest lips that ever have kissed,

The brightest eyes that ever have shone,
May pray and whisper and we not list,
Or look away and nover be missed, --

Ere yet ever a month is gone. Gillian 's dead ! God rest her bier, —

How I loved her twenty years syne! Marian 's married ; but I sit here, Alone and merry at forty year,

Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine.

Love, like spring-tides full and high,

Swells in every youthful vein ; But each tide does less supply,

Till they quite shrink in again. If a flow in age appear, "T is but rain, and runs not clear.

JOHN DRYDEN,

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.