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The Book of Odes, by L. Cranmer-Byng, [1908], at sacred-texts.com
I pray you, dear,
My little hamlet leave,
Nor break my willow-boughs;
’Tis not that I should grieve,
But I fear my sire to rouse.
Love pleads with passion disarrayed,—
"A sire's commands must be obeyed."
I pray you, dear,
Leap not across my wall,
Nor break my mulberry-boughs;
Not that I fear their fall,
But, lest my brother's wrath should rouse,
Love pleads with passion disarrayed,—
"A brother's words must be obeyed."
I pray you, dear,
Steal not my garden down,
Nor break my sandal-trees;
Not that I care for these,
But, oh! I dread the talk of town.
Should lovers have their wilful way,
Whatever would the neighbours say?