So loosely goes he hopping,
From tree and thicket dropping,
Then flies aloft so sprightly!
We dare but praise him lightly!
The fickle rogue! Young loves to sell!
My pretty loves who'll buy?
Now see this little creature—
How modest seems his feature!
He nestles so demurely,
You'd think him safer surely;
And yet for all his shyness,
There's danger in his slyness,
The cunning rogue! Young loves to sell!
My pretty loves who'll buy?
Oh, come and see this lovelet,
This little turtle-dovelet!
The maidens that are neatest,
The tenderest and sweetest,
Should buy it to amuse 'em,
And nurse it in their bosom.
The little pet! Young loves to sell!
My pretty loves who'll buy?
We need not bid you buy them,
They're here, if you will try them.
They like to change their cages;
But for their proving sages
No warrant will we utter—
They all have wings to flutter,
The pretty things! Young loves to sell!
Such beauties! Come and buy!
