LOVE'S PRISONER. And they who should attest thy glory Thomas Stanley. LOVE'S PRISONER. How sweet I roamed from field to field Till I the Prince of Love beheld He show'd me lilies for my hair, And blushing roses for my brow; With sweet May-dews my wings were wet, He caught me in his silken net, And shut me in his golden cage. He loves to sit and hear me sing, Then, laughing, sports and plays with me; Then stretches out my golden wing, And mocks my loss of liberty. W. Blake. 235 236 TO NANCY. TO NANCY. O NANCY Wilt thou go with me, No longer deck'd with jewels rare, O Nancy! when thou'rt far away, Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? Say, canst thou face the parching ray, Nor shrink before the wintry wind? O can that soft and gentle mien, Extremes of hardship learn to bear, Nor sad regret each courtly scene, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? O Nancy! canst thou love so true, To share with him the pang of woe? Wilt thou assume the nurse's care, Where thou wert fairest of the fair? SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. And when at last thy love shall die, 237 Thomas Percy. SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. Of all the girls that are so smart Her father he makes cabbage-nets, Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em; But sure such folks could ne'er beget She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. 238 SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. When she is by I leave my work, For she's the darling of my heart, Of all the days that's in the week And that's the day that comes betwixt My master carries me to church, When Christmas comes about again, I'll hoard it up, and box and all, I'll give it to my honey; O, would it were ten thousand pound! I'd give it all to Sally; For she's the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. BLACK-EYED SUSAN. My master and the neighbors all A slave, and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out, O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed- Harry Carey. BLACK-EYED SUSAN. ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, William, who high upon the yard Rock'd by the billows to and fro, The cord flies swiftly through his glowing hands, So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast 239 |