English poem
BALLAD. (How much I love thee girl would'st…)
by Anonymous
How much I love thee girl would'st know? Better than rosin loves the bow, Than treble shrill the growling bass, Or spruce guitars a tawdry case.
No more then let us solo play, To Hymen's temple jig away, There, when we get In a duet, Of pleasure will we take our swing, Joy's fiddles shall play, Love's bells shall ring: And, while we celebrate the day, We'll frisk away, And laugh and play, And dance and sing, And frisk away like any thing.
I love thee more, I really think, Than dancers jigs, or fiddlers drink; Than dancing-masters love a kit, Or jolly sailors fal dral tit.
No more then, &c.
I love thee Griddy, oh much more, Than singers love a loud encore, Than curates crowdies love to scratch, Or roaring drunkards love a catch.
No more then, &c.
More by Anonymous
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- BALLAD. (I am the world's epitome)
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- BALLAD. (I lock'd up all my treasure)