Love has not eyes

Of all the poor old Tobits a-groping in the street,
A Lover is the blindest that ever I did meet,
For he's blind, he's blind, he's very blind,--
He's as blind as any mole!

He thinks his love the fairest that ever yet was clasp'd,
Though her clay is overbaked, and it never has been rasp'd.
For he's blind, &c.

He thinks her face an angel's, although it's quite a frump's,
Like a toad a-taking physic, or a monkey in the mumps.
For he's blind, &c.

Upon her graceful figure then how he will insist,
Though she's all so much awry, she can only eat a twist!
For he's blind, &c.

He'll swear that in her dancing she cuts all others out,
Though like a Gal that's galvanised, she throws her legs about.
For he's blind, &c.

If he should have a letter in answer to his sighs,
He'll put it to his lips up, instead of to his eyes.
For he's blind, &c.

Then if he has a meeting the question for to put,
In suing for her hand he'll be kneeling at her foot.
For he's blind, &c.

Oh Love is like a furnace wherein a Lover lies,
And like a pig before the fire, he scorches out his eyes.
Till he's blind, &c.