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CRUEL NELLY.
AH! grieve with me, for I have loſt,
What to my ſoul is dear;
In meagre black deſpair I'm toſt,
And in my hot love paſſion croſt,
I now a ghoſt appear.
Now o'er the mead where flowers grow,
And yield a fragrant ſmell,
Alone I penſive wand'ring go,
And look a melancholy woe,
And ſigh for cruel Nell.
Her beauteous face, her iv'ry neck,
Her moulding boſom round,
Raiſe ſuch deſire in me, e-feck;
I fear at laſt my heart will break,
Behold in tears I'm drown'd.
But then her ſhape 'tis ſuch a one,
That I could almoſt ſpan.
But oh! ſhe's gone, and I'm undone!
And oh! alas! fure as a gun,
I am a dying man.
Ah! what a taper leg has ſhe,
And ah! her ſnowy thighs;
And garter'd too above the knee,
'Tis true (if you'll but believe me)
Or elſe I tell a lye.
