A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/The Peasant's Dilemma (G. Lemoine)
THE PEASANT'S DILEMMA.
I mean to wed the miller—maid,
His girl whose mill you see down there,
But here's the rub,—I love, and prayed
A shepherdess to be my fair.
My Fanchette is as bright as spring,
But poor as winter is her lot.
If one must do a foolish thing,
Why should it be, in sooth, for nought?
Bah! I shall wed the miller-maid
Who always makes sweet eyes at me,
Those eyes that ask in sun and shade—
Our marriage,—when is it to be?
One instant, not so fast,—reflect!
Am I quite sure of happiness
With the rich mistress I elect?
I love her not, or love far less.
Marriage, alas! is not, I own,
A tie for one day or a year;
But then consider,—Love alone
If he keep house, gives meagre cheer.
Bah! I shall wed the miller-maid
Who always makes sweet eyes at me,
Those eyes that ask in sun and shade—
Our marriage,—when is it to be?
And yet my mind is far from gay,
And asks—is this the better part,
Thus my poor Fanchette to betray
To whom I plighted hand and heart?
How loving is she—oh the pearl!
How she must suffer, sob and sigh,
Alas! If I forsake the girl,
I think, I almost think, she'll die.
Bah! By my faith! O Money-bags,
When next thine eyes enquire of me,
Mine shall reply,—a crust and rags
With her, than all the world with thee!