English poem
BALLAD. (A plague take all such grumbling elves)
by Anonymous
A plague take all such grumbling elves, If they will rail, so be it; Because we're happier than themselves, They can't endure to see it.
For me, I never shall repine, Let whate'er fate o'ertake us; For love and Annette shall be mine, Though all the world forsake us.
Then, dear Annette, regard them not, The hours shall pass on gayly, In spight of every snare and plot, Of that old doating Bailly.
No never, Annette, thou'lt repine, Let whate'er fate o'ertake us; For love and Lubin shall be thine, Though all the world forsake us.
More by Anonymous
- BALLAD. (A bed of moss we'll straight prepare)
- BALLAD. (A kernel from an apple's core)
- BALLAD. (A novice in love, and a stranger…)
- BALLAD. (A plague of those musty old lubbers)
- BALLAD. (A sailor and an honest heart)
- BALLAD. (A sailor's life's a life of woe)
- BALLAD. (A sailor's love is void of art)
- BALLAD. (A tinker I am)