Would the flame that you’re so rich in,
Light a fire into the kitchen,
Or the little god of love turn the spit, spit, spit.
The little man reply’d,
And some said, a little cry’d,
For his little heart was fill'd with sorrow sorrow sorrow,
With the little that I have,
I will be your little slave,
And the rest my little dear, we will borrow bor-
Thus did the little gent,
Make the little maid relent,
For her little heart began for to beat, beat, beat,
Though his offers were but small,
She accepted of them all,
Now she thanks her little stars for her fate, fate, fate.
The Soldier's Adieu.
ADIEU! adieu! my only life.
My honour calls me from thee!
Remember thou’rt a ſoldiers wife.
Thoſe tears but ⟨⟩ thee.
What tho’ by duty I am call'd,
Where thund'ring cannons rattle,
Where valour’s ſelf might ſtand appall'd;
When on the wings of thy dear love,
To heaven above
Thy fervant oriſons are flown?
The tender pray’r
Thou putt'ſt there,