SIMON.

Yonder tiny insect ranging,

Flits about on filmy wing,

Fickle Sophy, ever changing,
Is exactly such a thing.*

Were not Simon doom'd to love her,
Such is Cupid's odd decree,

Thrice the sense he would discover,
Forging fetters for a flea.

SOPHY.

Simon, well I might compare ye,
Since you alter every hour,
To a humming-bird, so airy,
That is wooing every flower.

But I never will be fretting
For so volatile a chap,

Sure I might as well be setting

For a butterfly my cap.

* Varium et mutabile semper Femina.

SIMON.

Simon t'other day advancing,

Found Miss Sophy not so coy,
Then his heart, with rapture dancing,
Kindled to a feu-de-joye.*

Then with little Cupid aiding,

Simon bounc'd into her arms;

Now her elbow barricading,

Guards her paradise of charms.

SOPHY.

Yes, and after all this rapture,
You must wait on Kitty Brag,
Kitty told me how you snapp'd her
When she offer'd you the bag.t

* Donec gratus eram tibi,

Nec quisquam potior brachia candida
Cervici juvenis dabat

Persarum vigui rege beatior.

* "To give the bag" is an expression common with the lower classes in New England, and indicates that Miss Delia will not honour Mr. Damon with her company in a tete-a-tete conversation.

Give me, likewise, leave to tell ye

What I saw the other day, Simon at the feet of Nelly,

Whining at a sorry lay.

SIMON.

Oh, my Sophy! smile propitious,
And a ray of hope impart;
Nor, by conduct so capricious,

Drive a sled-stake through my heart.

SOPHY.

But the heart that's so affected

Is a hollow thing at best, Emblem true I've long suspected, Of an empty hornet's nest.

SIMON.

While I'm pining to a splinter,
Can my dear enjoy the sight,
With a heart as cold as winter,
In a bosom full as white?

SOPHY.

Go, to passion fall a martyr,

And tomorrow let me see, Simon dangling by a garter

Hang on yonder white-oak tree.

SIMON.

Where yon ivy, oak-entwining
Overhangs the dimpled lake,
There I saw you once, reclining,
Mantled by the grove opaque.

Then you melted to my wishes,
And your love I well repaid

By two pretty wooden dishes,

And a sap-trough neatly made.

SOPHY.

Where yon grape-vine wanton winding

Twines a slender poplar-tree,

There a romping huzzy finding

You forgot your love for me.

But you kneel'd to one Miss Kitty,

And her true love did repay

By two earthen bowls, so pretty,
And a genteel wooden tray.

SIMON.

Tell me now, my pretty Sophy,
How that rakish fellow, Ned,

Ever boasting of the trophy,
Came by lady's garter red

Sure it must have been a droll hit, And the lad was lucky too;

Can

you tell me how he stole it?

Did the thing belong to you?

SOPHY.

Gentle Simon cease your flouting, Nor in wicked scandal deal.

Tricks we find each other out in,

Sure 'twere better to conceal.