8
A thousand goddesses surrounded,
To divert the lovely pair,
Polly’s beauty, Tom confounded,
Love’s passion wrought him to despair;
How to gain this lovely creature,
You god of love pray let me know.
Must I, shall I, kiss you, Polly?
But she answer’d, no, no, no.
To a tavern straight he brought her.
Gave her liquor of the best,
By the hand he often shook her,
Saying, I love you the best.
Poll grew warm and thought no harm,
After a harmless glass or two,
To what he said, the silly maid,
Could hardly answer, no, no, no.
Madam your smiles are so engaging,
And your bright eyes do me confound.
Let my persuasions be prevailing,
have giv’n a mortal wound.
By the hand he softly press'd her,
Saying, My darling don't be coy,
Must I, shall I, kiss you, Polly?
Then she answer'd ay, ay, ay.
FINIS.
