The thorns

Tho' fine prov'd the morning O sad prov'd the ramble

     Adown by the Willows adown by the lee
Adown by the cottage where Hedge rows of bramble
     Hides it from all strangers but unlucky me

For there I espied & admir'd a young rosie
      lov'd & had hopes in possesing the flower
Till Cupid flew laughing away with the posie
     & left me the thorns which I feel at this hour

O Willows & brambles—what deamon beset me
     To make me to go where your cottage arose
Yet still was you all I could hope to forget ye
     But o there's no hopes in forgetting the rose

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