How Happy Could I Be With Either,

My Lodging Is On The Cold Ground, And Hard, Very Hard, Is My Fare, But That Which Grieves Me More Is The Coldness Of My Dear.

In Beauty Faults Conspicuous Grow; The Smallest Speck Is Seen On Snow.

If The Heart Of A Man Is Depressed With Cares, The Mist Is Dispell'd When A Woman Appears; Like The Notes Of A Fiddle, She Sweetly, Sweetly Raises The Spirits, And Charms Our Ears.

Good Housewives All The Winter's Rage Despise, Defended By The Riding-hood's Disguise; Or, Underneath The Umbrella's Oily Shade, Safe Through The Wet On Clinking Pattens Tread, Let Persian Dames The Unbrella's Ribs Display, To Guard Their Beauties From The Sunny Ray; Or Sweating Slaves Support The Shady Load, When Eastern Monarchs Show Their State Abroad; Britain In Winter Only Knows Its Aid, To Guard From Chilling Showers The Walking Maid.

How, Like A Moth, The Simple Maid Still Plays Around The Flame!