4
It was the last May, I remember it still,
He brought me a nest of young linnets quite flush,
And I the kind present receiv’d with a blush.
Whenever he meets me, he’ll simper and smile,
I seem as I did not observe him the while;
He offer’d to kiss me, I gave him a push;
Why can’t you be easy? I cry’d with a blush.
One Sunday he came to intreat me to walk,
’Twas down in a meadow, of love was our talk.
He call d me his dearest—Pray, Damon, be, hush,
There‘s somebody coming, I cry‘d, with a blush.
My mother she chides when I mention the swain,
Forbids me to go to the meadow again:
But sure, for his sake, I will venture a brush.
For love him I do, I confess with a blush.
Thus warbled the fair, and my heart leapt for joy,
Tho’ little she thought that her Damon was nigh.
But chancing to see me behind a green bush,
She ended her song, and arose with a blush.
