New Style

I very much indeed approve
Of maidens moderating love
Until they've twenty pounds;
Then Prudence, with a poet's praise,
May loose the laces of their stays,
And let them quest like hounds.
Peggy, my theme, twelve years ago
(Or better) did precisely so:
She lived at farmer Spence's;
She scour'd the pantry, milk'd the cows,
And answer'd every would-be spouse.
" D'ye think I've lost my senses?"
Until the twenty pounds were safe,
She tiff'd at Tim, she ran from Ralph,
Squire nodded . . deuce a curtsy!
Sam thought her mopish, Silas proud,
And Jedediah cried aloud,
" Pray who the devil hurts ye?"
But now the twenty pounds were got,
She knew the fire to boil the pot,
She knew the man to trust to.
I'm glad I gave this tidy lass
(Under my roof) a cheerful glass
(Of water) and a crust too.
Although the seventeenth of May,
It was a raw and misty day
When Ebenezer Smart,
(The miller's lad of Boxholm-mill)
Having obtained her right good-will
And prudent virgin heart,
Led her to church: and Joseph Stead
(The curate of said Boxholm) read
The service; and Will Sands
(The clerk) repeated the response
(They after him) which utter'd once
Holds fast two plighted hands.
And now they live aside the weir,
And (on my conscience) I declare
As merrily as larks.
This I can vouch for: I went in
One day and sat upon the bin
While Peggy hemm'd two sarks.
I do not say two sarks entire,
Collar and wristband; these require
(I reckon) some time more;
But mainly two stout sarks, the tail
And fore-flap, stiff as coat of mail
On knight in days of yore.
I told my sister and our maid
(Anne Waddlewell) how long I stayed
With Peggy: 'twas until her
Dinner-time: we expect, before
Right or (at most) nine months are o'er,
Another little miller.