Courtship

LET others sing of Flames and Darts,
And all Love's lullaby;—
Of crying Eyes, and cracking Hearts—
The Deuce a bit will I.
If you are willing, I'm so too,
If not—why there's no more to do.
With fa, la, la.

Shou'd you expect, in Sorrow's guise,
I'll wear a woefull face,
Such maudlin Mumm'ry I despise,
Mine is no Lovesick Case—
'Tis but my Whim, e'en make it thine,
Then Whim to Whim, and yours to mine.

Or if you think in golden rain,
Like Jove, I'll pave my way,
Such expectations are but vain,
I've only this to say,—
You've something which I wou'd be at,
I've something too;—so Tit for Tat.

Your Taste, your Talk, I may admire,
And praise, with truth, your Face;
Your sparkling Eyes that speak Desire,
And give Expression Grace.
Yet there's a — but I'll not be bold,
Nor say, what's better took than told.

Well kens the Lass what I wou'd win,
And well I ken the Road;
He that is out wou'd fain be in.
A Patriot A-la-mode.—
As you're my Sov'reign grant me Grace,
I only ask a little Place.

Least said, they say, is mended soon,
With you I'll not dispute;
Ill tastes the long requested Boon
'Tis sweet, when short's the suit.
Then grant, with Grace, the Grace I sue,
Or let me, without Grace, fall to.
With fa, la, la