Читать книгу The Humorous Poetry of the English Language; from Chaucer to Saxe - Various - Страница 64

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Young women! don't be fond of killing,

Too well I know your hearts unwilling

To hide beneath the vail a charm—

Too pleased a sparkling eye to roll,

And with a neck to thrill the soul

Of every swain with love's alarm.

Yet, yet, if prudence be not near

Its snow may melt into a tear.

The dimple smile, and pouting lip,

Where little Cupids nectar sip,

Are very pretty lures I own:

But, ah! if prudence be not nigh,

Those lips where all the Cupids lie,

May give a passage to a groan.

A Rose, in all the pride of bloom,

Flinging around her rich perfume

Her form to public notice pushing,

Amid the summer's golden glow

Peeped on a Strawberry below,

Beneath a leaf, in secret blushing.

"Miss Strawberry," exclaimed the Rose,

"What's beauty that no mortal knows?

What is a charm, if never seen?

You really are a pretty creature:

Then wherefore hide each blooming feature?

Come up, and show your modest mien."

"Miss Rose," the Strawberry replied,

"I never did possess a pride

That wished to dash the public eye:

Indeed, I own that I'm afraid—

I think there's safety in the shade,

Ambition causes many a sigh."

"Go, simple child," the Rose rejoined,

"See how I wanton in the wind:

I feel no danger's dread alarms:

And then observe the god of day,

How amorous with his golden ray,

To pay his visits to my charms!"

No sooner said, but with a scream

She started from her favorite theme—

A clown had on her fixed his pat.

In vain she screeched—Hob did but smile;

Rubbed with her leaves his nose awhile,

Then bluntly stuck her in his hat.