THE COUNTY TOAST
LIKE a rosebud slipped from its parent stalk,
Sweetly defiant and fresh and gay,
Comes Betty a-swing down the garden walk,
Through the hedges of box that line her way,
In her primrose gown, to take the town
By storm, this Easter Day.
Sweet Mistress Betty, the county toast,
So many her charms and variable,
That drinking them many a worthy host
Hath fallen prone 'neath his own good table;
And many's the beau will doff his hat
And sigh as she passes, angel-wise;
But it's not for this, and it's not for that
They may win the sweet of a smile from her eyes.
The sunbeams dance on the old church floor,
The parson drones like a swarm of bees,
But never at him looks the Governor,
Or the parson's nephew from over seas;
'Tis a curl of brown and a flowered gown
That have brought them to their knees.
Sweet Mistress Betty, oh, fie, for shame,
Though low you look as you blush demurely,
Was it all for piety's sake you came
To the old oak pew where you sit securely?
Do you ponder well what the parson says,
With never a thought of your furbelows,
Or drop your eyes when the good man prays,
To madden the maids and bewitch the beaux!
There's a dark-eyed lad in the singers' seats—
His voice rings loud and his voice rings true—
Do you understand what his heart repeats
When he sings to you, and to only you?
Oh, Mistress Betty, there's one heart beats
A trifle fast in the old oak pew.
Sweet Mistress Betty, play loose, play fast,
Torment your lovers without regret;
But 'tis love laughs best and 'tis love laughs last
When he conquers the heart of a gay coquette.
In the garden to-night one lilts a tune,
And one steals out like a dainty ghost—
And wooed and won 'neath the Easter moon
Is Mistress Betty, the county toast!
