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SAYS my uncle, I pray you discover
What hath been the cause of your woes,
Why you pine and you whine like a lover;
I've seen Molly Mog of the Rose.
O nephew! your grief is but folly;
In town you may find better prog;
Half a crown there will get you a Molly,
A Molly much better than Mog.
I know that by wits 'tis recited,
That women at best are a clog:
But I'm not so easily frighted;
From loving my sweet Molly Mog.
The schoolboy's delight is a play-day;
The schoolmaster's joy is to flog;
The milkmaid's delight is on Mayday;
But mine is on sweet Molly Mog.
Will-o'-wisp leads the traveller a gadding
Thro' ditch, and thro' quagmire and bog:
But no light can set me a madding,
Like the eyes of my sweet Molly Mog.
For guineas in other men's breeches
Your gamesters will palm and will cog:
