"What have I done to merit all this pain?
"Dear mother, share my fortune with the poor,
"Jennet is mine, and _shall_ be--say no more;
"Bowman, you know not what a friend I'll be;
"Give me your daughter, Bowman, give her me;
"Jennet, what will my days be if you go?
"A dreary darkness, and a life of woe:
"My dearest love, come _home_, and do not cry;
"You are my daylight, Jennet, I shall die."

To such appeals all prompt replies are cold,
And stately prudence snaps her cobweb hold.
Had the good widow tried, or wish'd to speak,
This was a bond she could not, dared not break;
Their hearts (you never saw their likeness, never)
Were join'd, indissolubly join'd for ever.
Why need I tell how soon our tears were dried.
How Jennet blush'd, how Alfred with a stride
Bore off his prize, and fancied every charm,
And clipp'd against his ribs her trembling arm;
How mute we seniors stood, our power all gone?
Completely conquer'd, Love the day had won,
And the young vagrant triumph'd in our plight,
And shook his roguish plumes, and laugh'd outright.
Yet, by my life and hopes, I would not part
With this sweet recollection from my heart;
I would not now forget that tender scene
To wear a crown, or make my girl a queen.
Why need be told how pass'd the months along,
How sped the summer's walk, the winter's song,