  Ye CRYER. Here’s a reward for who’ll find Love! Love is a-straying Ever since Maying; Hither and yon, below, above, All are seeking Love! Gone astray—between the Maying And the gathering of the hay, Love, an urchin ever playing— Folk are warned against his play. How may you know him? by the quiver, By the bow he’s wont to bear. First on your left there comes a shiver, Then a twinge—the arrow’s there. By his eye of pansy colour, Deep as wounds he dealeth free; If its hue have faded duller, ’Tis not that he weeps for me. By the smile that curls his mouthlet; By the mockery of his sigh; By his breath, a spicy South, let Slip his lips of roses by. By the devil in his dimple; By his lies that sound so true; By his shaft-string, that no simple Ever culled will heal for you. By his beckonings that embolden; By his quick withdrawings then; By his flying hair, a golden Light to lure the feet of men. By the breast where ne’er a hurt’ll Rankle ’neath his kerchief hid— What? you cry; he wore a kirtle? Faith! methinks the rascal did! Love is a-straying Ever since Maying; Hither and you, below, above, I am seeking Love. ye Finder pray’d to Bring her to Master Corydon, Petticoat Lane. CRYER: H. BUNNER, GRUB STREET, CRY’S WEDDINGS, BURYINGS, LOFT |
|
