The Girl is Bewitch'd

Such a Tom-boy before I had enter'd my teens, In spite of my granny was I, From my sampler, and doll, and such babyish scenes, For a good game at romps would I fly; Though she dodg'd me, and watch'd me, defy'd and besought, To quiet my rogue of a heart, My legs were too light for my grandmother's thoughts. When my youth was a match for her art— When she found her experience was thus over-reach'd, She'd exclaim, in a rage, sure the girl is bewitch'd.

She lectur'd me next, when my frock laid aside, And bid me beware of the men; But such lectures she knew I could never abide, So I told her again and again; Nay, oft in the midst, I'd break from her and laugh, At such prudish dull maxims and stuff; She always for me was too serious by half, So I'd leave her alone in a huff— When she found 'twas in vain that to me she preach'd, She'd exclaim, in a rage, sure the girl is bewitch'd. 'Till I met with a lad whose face and whose chat With a thousand nice pleasantries mov'd; Who told a long tale, I scarce knew about what, Except 'twas to say that he lov'd; Nor even from him no long speeches I'd hear, Though I lov'd him as dear as my life; Now we romp, dance and frolic each day of the year, He's as mad and as gay as his wife! Now my granny may frown, since in vain she has preach'd, And the world, if it pleases, may think us bewitch'd.