to groves and streams i tell my flame,
i make the cliffs repeat her name:
when i’m inspired by gills and noggins,
the rocks re-echo sally hoggins!
[pg 99]
huggins.
when i am walking in the grove,
i think of peggy as i rove.
i’d carve her name on every tree,
but i don’t know my a, b, c.
duggins.
whether i walk in hill or valley,
i think of nothing else but sally.
i’d sing her praise, but i can sing
no song, except “god save the king.”
huggins.
my peggy does all nymphs excel,
and all confess she bears the bell,—
where’er she goes swains flock together,
like sheep that follow the bellwether.
duggins.
sally is tall and not too straight,—
those very poplar shapes i hate;
but something twisted like an s,—
a crook becomes a shepherdess.
huggins.
when peggy’s dog her arms imprison,
i often wish my lot was hisn;
how often i should stand and turn,
to get a pat from hands like hern.
duggins.
i tell sall’s lambs how blest they be,
to stand about and stare at she;
but when i look, she turns and shies,
and won’t bear none but their sheep’s-eyes!
[pg 100]
huggins.
love goes with peggy where she goes.—
beneath her smile the garden grows;
potatoes spring, and cabbage starts,
’tatoes have eyes, and cabbage hearts!
duggins.
where sally goes it’s always spring,
her presence brightens every thing;
the sun smiles bright, but where her grin is,
it makes brass farthings look like guineas.
huggins.
for peggy i can have no joy,
she’s sometimes kind, and sometimes coy,
and keeps me, by her wayward tricks,
as comfortless as sheep with ticks.
