The Choice

When in a garden sweet I walk, The charming flowers admiring, Each nods upon its tender stalk, And seems my touch desiring: Tho' all of beauties are possess'd, Too much to be rejected, Yet only one for Mary's breast, By fancy is selected.

Full conscious of thy faith and truth, No wrong to thee intended: Ah! should I chuse some other youth, Be not, fond youth, offended: The starting tear, the heaving sigh, True signs not disregarded; But, by a maid, more fair than I, Oh, be thy love rewarded.