No Indeed, Not I

One summer's eve, when Luna's beam Illumin'd hill and dale, And gaily wanton'd on the stream, With zephyr's gentle gale; What, all alone, my pretty maid, Cry'd Colin, passing by, Take company—I frouting said, Indeed, Sir, no, not I.

O let me, said the smiling swain, Conduct you through the grove; And then, in fond and moving strain, Renew'd his tale of love. He begg'd I'd name the happy day, And hop'd the same was nigh; Says I, ha done—I cannot stay— Indeed, says he—nor I.

We parted; but the testy youth, In female arts untaught, Mistook my meaning, for in truth I meant not as he thought. Then threw me oft' in Colin's way, And smil'd when he came nigh; Again he woo'd, could I say nay— Why, no, indeed, not I.