(7)
With my head on my pillow I ſeek for repoſe,
Which comes to the wretched, and ſoftens their woes;
But ſleepleſs, though blameleſs, I ſigh through the night;
And the day can't relieve me, though never ſo bright.
In vain I perplex my poor fancy, &c.
So evil a ſpirit that haunts a poor maid,
By the grave ſons of phyſic can never be laid;
If a youth vers'd in magic would take me in hand,
I'm ſure of a cure, if he waves but his wand.
In vain I perplex my poor fancy, &c.
А young Oxford ſcholar knows well my ſad caſe,
For he look'd in my eyes, and read over my face;
So learned he talk'd, that I felt at my heart,
He muſt have great ſkill in the magical art.
In vain I perplex my poor fancy, &c.
O ſend for this ſcholar, and let him preſcribe,
He'll do me more good than the medical tribe:
Then the roſe with the lily again ſhall appear,
And my heart, now ſo heavy, dance thro' the whole year.
No more I'll perplex my poor fancy,
To find out the grief,
For he'll ſoon bring relief,
Heigh ho! he knows what's the matter with Nancy.
THE MARRIED MAN.
To its own proper Tune.
I Am married, and happy; with wonder hear this,
ye rovers and rakes of the age,
Who laugh at the motion of conjugal bliſs,
and who only looſe pleaſures engage.
