Part 71

Good master curate, teach me how To mind your preaching and my plow: And if for this you'll raise a spell, A good fat goose shall thank you well.

Unknown

CONTENTIONS

It was a lordling's daughter, the fairest one of three, That liked of her master as well as well might be; Till looking on an Englishman, the fair'st that eye could see Her fancy fell a-turning.

Long was the combat doubtful that love with love did fight, To leave the master loveless, or kill the gallant knight: To put in practice either, alas! it was a spite Unto the silly damsel.

But one must be refused: more mickle was the pain, That nothing could be used to turn them both to gain; For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with disdain: Alas! she could not help it.

Thus art with arms contending was victor of the day, Which by a gift of learning did bear the maid away; Then lullaby, the learned man hath got the lady gays For now my song is ended.

Unknown

"I ASKED MY FAIR, ONE HAPPY DAY" After Lessing

I asked my fair, one happy day, What I should call her in my lay; By what sweet name from Rome or Greece; Lalage, Neaera, Chloris, Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, Arethusa or Lucrece.

"Ah!" replied my gentle fair, "Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suits the line; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage or Doris, Only - only call me thine."

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

THE EXCHANGE

We pledged our hearts, my love and I, - I in my arms the maiden clasping: I could not tell the reason why, But oh! I trembled like an aspen.

Her father's love she bade me gain; I went, and shook like any reed! I strove to act the man - in vain! We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge [1772-1834]

"COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE"

Comin' through the rye, poor body, Comin' through the rye, She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Comin' through the rye.

Oh Jenny's a' wat poor body, Jenny's seldom dry; She draiglet a' her petticoatie, Comin' through the rye.

Gin a body meet a body, Comin' through the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?

Gin a body meet a body Comin' through the glen, Gin a body kiss a body, Need the warld ken?

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

"GREEN GROW THE RASHES, O!"

There's naught but care on every han', In every hour that passes, O! What signifies the life o' man, An' 'twere na for the lasses, O?

Green grow the rashes, O! Green grow the rashes, O! The sweetest hours that e'er I spend, Are spent amang the lasses, O!

The warl'ly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them, O! An' though at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O!

Gie me a canny hour at e'en; My arms about my dearie, O! An' warl'ly cares, an' warl'ly men, May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!

For you sae douce, ye sneer at this; Ye'er naught but senseless asses, O! The wisest man the warl' e'er saw He dearly loved the lasses, O!