16
FROM A TALLOW CHANDLER.
Light of mine eyes, to me impart
The beams of love to cheer a heart,
That burns with love for thee;
Ah! e’re my light of life decays,
Illume me with the radiant rays
Of thy fond love to me.
FROM A PRINTER.
You are the finest, print, my dear,
That ever eyes did bless;
A better type, I do declare,
Did never come from press.
Oh! let me take thee in the sheets,
And fold thee to my mind,
You’d make a pretty book complete
Which I with love would bind.
The page of love I then would read,
A lecture sweet and fine;
I’d spell you all with truth indeed,
My pretty Valentine.
FROM A BOOKSELLER.
What a trouble and searching there’s always
to get
A volume that’s lost, to make perfect a set!
Now I’m that odd volume, and only seek yon,
