Oh! thou didst then ne’er love so heartily,
If thou rememberest not the slighest folly
That ever love did make thee run into. 
                            As You Like It.

Cry the man mercy! love him, take his offer. 
                             As You Like It.

-----------------------

To Farmer Moss, in Langar Vale, came down,
His only daughter, from her school in town;
A tender, timid maid! who knew not how
To pass a pig-sty, or to face a cow: 
Smiling she came, with petty talents graced,
A fair complexion, and a slender waist. 
   Used to spare meals, disposed in manner pure,
Her father’s kitchen she could ill endure: 
Where by the steaming beef he hungry sat,
And laid at once a pound upon his plate;
Hot from the field, her eager brother seized
An equal part, and hunger’s rage appeased;
The air surcharged with moisture, flagg’d around,
And the offended damsel sigh’d and frown’d;
The swelling fat in lumps conglomerate laid,
And fancy’s sickness seized the loathing maid: 
But when the men beside their station took,
The maidens with them, and with these the cook;
When one huge wooden bowl before them stood,
Fill’d with huge balls of farinaceous food;
With bacon, mass saline, where never lean
Beneath the brown and bristly rind was seen;
When from a single horn the party drew
Their copious draughts of heavy ale and new;
When the coarse cloth she saw, with many a stain
Soil’d by rude hinds who cut and came again —
She could not breathe; but with a heavy sigh,
Rein’d the fair neck, and shut th’ offended eye;
She minced the sanguine flesh in frustums fine,
And wonder’d much to see the creatures dine;
When she resolved her father’s heart to move,
If hearts of farmers were alive to love. 
   She now entreated by herself to sit
In the small parlour, if papa thought fit,
And there to dine, to read, to work alone —
“No!” said the Farmer in an angry tone;
“These are your school-taught airs; your mother’s pride
Would send you there; but I am now your guide. —
Arise betimes, our early meal prepare,
And, this despatch’d, let business be your care;
Look to the lasses, let there not be one
Who lacks attention, till her tasks be done;
In every household work your portion take,
And what you make not, see that others make: 
At leisure times attend the wheel, and see
The whit’ning web besprinkled on the lea;
When thus employ’d, should our young neighbours view,
A useful lass,—­you may have more to do.” 
   Dreadful were these commands; but worse than these
The parting hint—­a Farmer could not please: 
’Tis true she had without abhorrence seen
Young Harry Carr, when he was smart and clean: 
But, to be married—­be a farmer’s wife —
A slave! a drudge!—­she could not for her life. 
   With swimming eyes the fretful nymph