And some to Susan gave, and some to thee;
Thine were the best, and well thy smiling eye
The diff’rence mark’d, and guess’d the reason why. 
When on a holy-day we rambling stray’d,
And pass’d old Hodge’s cottage in the glade;
Neat was the garden dress’d, sweet hum’d the bee,
I wish’d both cot and Nelly made for me;
And well methought thy very eyes reveal’d
The self-same wish within thy breast conceal’d. 
When artful, once, I sought my love to tell,
And spoke to thee of one who lov’d thee well,
You saw the cheat, and jeering homeward hied,
Yet secret pleasure in thy looks I spied. 
Ay, gayest maid may meekest matron prove,
And smaller signs than these have ’token’d love.”

Now, at a distance, on the neighb’ring plain,
With creaking wheels slow comes the heavy wain: 
High on its tow’ring load a maid appears,
And Nelly’s voice sounds shrill in Robin’s ears. 
Quick from his hand he throws the cumb’rous flail,
And leaps with lightsome limbs th’ enclosing pale. 
O’er field and fence he scours, and furrow wide,
With waken’d Comrade barking by his side;
Whilst tracks of trodden grain, and sidelong hay,
And broken hedge-flow’rs sweet, mark his impetuous way.

A DISAPPOINTMENT.

On village green, whose smooth and well worn sod,
Cross-path’d with every gossip’s foot is trod;
By cottage door where playful children run,
And cats and curs sit basking in the sun: 
Where o’er the earthen seat the thorn is bent,
Cross-arm’d, and back to wall, poor William leant. 
His bonnet broad drawn o’er his gather’d brow,
His hanging lip and lengthen’d visage shew
A mind but ill at ease.  With motions strange,
His listless limbs their wayward postures change;
Whilst many a crooked line and curious maze,
With clouted shoon, he on the sand pourtrays. 
The half-chew’d straw fell slowly from his mouth,
And to himself low mutt’ring spoke the youth.

“How simple is the lad! and reft of skill,
Who thinks with love to fix a woman’s will: 
Who ev’ry Sunday morn, to please her sight,
Knots up his neck-cloth gay, and hosen white: 
Who for her pleasure keeps his pockets bare,
And half his wages spends on pedlar’s ware;
When every niggard clown, or dotard old,
Who hides in secret nooks his oft told gold,
Whose field or orchard tempts with all her pride,
At little cost may win her for his bride;
Whilst all the meed her silly lover gains
Is but the neighbours’ jeering for his pains. 
On Sunday last when Susan’s bands were read,
And I astonish’d sat with hanging head,
Cold grew my shrinking limbs, and loose my knee,
Whilst every neighbour’s eye was fix’d on me. 
Ah, Sue! when last we work’d at Hodge’s hay,
And still at me you jeer’d in wanton play;
When last at fair, well pleas’d by show-man’s stand,
You took the new-bought fairing from my hand;