THE CHARMS of MELODY, SONG 73

In penance for past folly, A pilgrim blithe and jolly, Sworn soe to melancholy, Set out strange lands to see; With cockle shells on hat brim, Staffs, beads, and scrip, in that trim, Befitting of a pilgrim, Begging for charity.

With unshod feet he traces His way thro' wilds and chaces, And sundry dismal places, In hopes some roof to see; But when that he could find no House nor hut to go to, Was ever pilgrim put so To it for charity!

But now, when most dejected, Kind heaven, when least expected, A maiden's steps directed, Whence come you, sir? says she. Full many a weary step, sweet, And all with these poor bare feet, O could I by your help, meet Lodging for charity.

With courteous voice and accent, Says she, I see you're quite spent, Yet what I say is well meant, Pray lodge to-night with me. This favour is excessive: No speeches, sir; while I live, If I have aught I can give, 'Tis giv'n in charity.

He ey'd her charms whilst eating, And call'd her love and sweeting, And many a tender greeting, So kind a heart had he. Kind sir, says she, you're tir'd, 'Tis time you were retir'd, Nor beds nor rooms are hir'd, But lent in charity.

My tenement is brittle, And is, I fear, too little. It fits me to a tittle, So in at once went he. Through many a town and city I've been, and O! the pity, Ne'er met a room so pretty, Nor so much charity.

Nine days he past in clover, So well he play'd the lover: She thought it too soon over, And will you go? said she. But, gentle pilgrim, should you Return, you know I would do As much as woman could do, To shew my charity.