AND I’ll o’er the Moor to Maggy,
Her wit and sweetness call me,
Then to my fair I’ll show my mind,
Whatever may befall me.
If she love mirth I’ll learn to sing,
Or likes the nine to follow,
I’ll lay my lugs in Pindus’ spring,
And invocate Apollo.
If she admire a martial mind,
I’ll sheathe my limbs in armour;
If to the softer dance inclin’d,
With gayest airs I’ll charm her:
If she love grandeur day and night
I’ll plot my nation’s glory,
Find favour in my prince’s light,
And shine in future story.
Beauty can wonders work with ease,
Where wit is corresponding;
And bravest men know best to please,
With complaisance abounding.
My bony Maggy’s love can turn
Me to what shape she pleases,
If in her breast that flame shall burn,
Which in my bosom blazes.