Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset; I am sure I‘ ll be jailed for a lunatic yet. I‘ ll be out of a job — it's the thing to expect When I‘ m letting my duty go by with neglect.
You may judge the extent and degree of my plight When I‘ m thinking all day and a-dreaming all night, And a-trying my hand at a rhyme on the sly, All on account of a sparkling eye.
There are those who say men should be strong, well-a-day! But what constitutes strength in a man? Who shall say? I am strong as the most when it comes to the arm. I have aye held my own on the playground or farm.
And when I‘ ve been tempted, I have n't been weak; But now — why, I tremble to hear a maid speak. I used to be bold, but now I‘ ve grown shy, And all on account of a sparkling eye.
There once was a time when my heart was devout, But now my religion is open to doubt. When parson is earnestly preaching of grace, My fancy is busy with drawing a face,
Thro’ the back of a bonnet most piously plain; ‘ I draw it, redraw it, and draw it again.’ While the songs and the sermon unheeded go by,— All on account of a sparkling eye.
Oh, dear little conjurer, give o'er your wiles, It is easy for you, you're all blushes and smiles: But, love of my heart, I am sorely perplexed; I am smiling one minute and sighing the next;
And if it goes on, I‘ ll drop hackle and flail, And go to the parson and tell him my tale. I warrant he‘ ll find me a cure for the sigh That you‘ re aye bringing forth with the glance of your eye.
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