IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT .

What a plague cried young Colin would Chloe be at?
I ne'er will be caught in a noose:
Odds wounds I'm resolv'd, and who'd wager 'gainst that,
Were it even a guinea, he'd lose.

I told the young baggage, says I, to her face,
Toy as much as you will, but no priest shall say grace.

II.

Cry'd young Thyrsis, pray Colin this blustering hold,
What you've utter'd is only through fear;
In the absence of danger all cowards feel bold,
But you'd soon change your tone were she near:

She has honour and truth, and I say't to your face,
With her you'll ne'er toy till the priest shall say grace.

III.

Away then cried Colin a soldier I'll go,
In each quarter to find out a wife;
I'll roar and I'll rant, rake a little, or so,
But no one shall snap me for life;
For in spight of their fancies, I'll say't to their face,
Toy as much as you will, but no priest shall say grace.

IV.

As he utter'd those words, charming Chloe came by,
Unaffected, and lovely as May;
Adieu then poor Colin cried she, with a sigh,
While the sun shines begone and make hay.

Cried Thyrsis, d'ye hear, you may well hide your face!
With such beauty would'st toy till the priest should say, grace.

V.

Odd rot it, cried Colin, woot let me alone,
With vexation my heart how it boils;
Why for her peace of mind I would forfeit my own: —
Woot forgive me sweet Chloe? — She smiles!

See, see glad consent lightens up in her face!
Then let us to church, where the priest shall say grace.