The Moth a Coy Lover

The Moth a coy lover now ventures to creep

Out at night to steal kisses from flowers when asleep

But the Butterflye bold as the Bee for a plot

Kisses the flowers all the day whether willing or not

Now no longer able his sports to pursue

He lay neath a leaf to get out of the dew

Heres the Cockchaffer to with his old sullen drone

Sings as if he thought no song sweet as his own

The Bee too with grains of red dust on each thigh

Who had drained thro the day all the honey flowers dry

& in vain he attempted straight forward to drive

He reeled and mistook the way home to his hive

Till lost on this spot in a considerable fright

He makes on this thistle a bed for the night

Heres the rope dancing spider a trusting his threads

From his web on the branches high over their heads

Ah well may you laugh at the sports he doth make

While he dances away in no fears for his neck

The rest were all coupled & happy & they

Song the old merry songs which they sang at his day

Pet MS A31 p9

(Unpublished as far as I can tell)