Over the Way
Alas! the flames of an unhappy lover
About my heart and on my vitals prey;
I've caught a fever that I can't get over,
Over the way!
Oh! why are eyes of hazel? noses Grecian?
I've lost my rest by night, my peace by day,
For want of some brown Holland or Venetian,
Over the way.
I've gazed too often, till my heart's as lost
As any needle in a stack of hay:
Crosses belong to love, and mine is crossed
Over the way!
I cannot read or write, or thoughts relax —
Of what avail Lord Althorp or Earl Grey?
They cannot ease me of my window-tax
Over the way!
Even on Sunday my devotions vary,
And from St. Bennet Fink they go astrav
To dear St. Mary Overy — the Mary
Over the way!
Oh! if my godmother were but a fairy,
With magic wand, how I would beg and pray
That she would change me into that canary
Over the way!
I envy every thing that's near Miss Lindo,
A pug, a poll, a squirrel or a jay —
Blest blue-bottles! that buzz about the window
Over the way!
Even at even, for there be no shutters,
I see her reading on, from grave to gay,
Some tale or poem, till the candle gutters
Over the way!
And then — oh! then — while the clear waxen taper
Emits, two stories high, a starlike ray,
I see twelve auburn curls put into paper
Over the way!
But how breathe unto her my deep regards,
Or ask her for a whispered ay or nay, —
Or offer her my hand, some thirty yards
Over the way?
Cold as the pole she is to my adoring; —
Like Captain Lyon, at Repulse's Bay,
I meet an icy end to my exploring
Over the way!
Each dirty little Savoyard that dances
She looks on — Punch — or chimney-sweeps in May:
Zounds! wherefore cannot I attract her glances
Over the way?
Half out she leans to watch a tumbling brat,
Or yelping cur, run over by a dray;
But I'm in love — she never pities that!
Over the way!
I go to the same church — a love-lost labour;
Haunt all her walks, and dodge her at the play;
She does not seem to know she has a neighbour
Over the way!
At private theatres she never acts;
No Crown-and-Anchor balls her fancy sway;
She never visits gentlemen with tracts
Over the way!
To billets-doux by post she shows no favour —
In short, there is no plot that I can lay
To break my window-pains to my enslaver
Over the way!
I play the flute, she heeds not my chromatics,
No friend an introduction can purvey;
I wish a fire would break out in the attics
Over the way!
My wasted form ought of itself to touch her:
My baker feels my appetite's decay;
And as for butcher's meat — oh! she's my butcher
Over the way!
At beef I turn; at lamb or veal I pout;
I never ring now to bring up the tray;
My stomach grumbles at my dining out
Over the way!
I'm weary of my life; without regret
I could resign this miserable clay
To lie within that box of mignonette
Over the way!
I've fitted bullets to my pistol-bore;
I've vowed at times to rush where trumpets bray,
Quite sick of number one — and number four
Over the way!
Sometimes my fancy builds up castles airy.
Sometimes it only paints a ferme orne├®,
A horse, a cow, six fowls, a pig, and Mary,
Over the way!
Sometimes I dream of her in bridal white,
Standing before the altar, like a fay;
Sometimes of balls, and neighbourly invite
Over the way!
I've cooed with her in dreams, like any turtle,
I've snatched her from the Clyde, the Tweed, and Tay;
Thrice I have made a grove of that one myrtle
Over the way!
Thrice I have rowed her in a fairy shallop,
Thrice raced to Gretna in a neat " po-shay, "
And showered crowns to make the horses gallop
Over the way!
And thrice I've started up from dreams appalling
Of killing rivals in a bloody fray —
There is a young man very fond of calling
Over the way!
Oh! happy man — above all kings in glory,
Whoever in her ear may say his say,
And add a tale of love to that one story
Over the way!
Nabob of Arcot — Despot of Japan —
Sultan of Persia — Emperor of Cathay —
Much rather would I be the happy man
Over the way!
With such a lot my heart would be in clover —
But what — O horror! — what do I survey!
Postilions and white favours! — all is over
Over the way!
About my heart and on my vitals prey;
I've caught a fever that I can't get over,
Over the way!
Oh! why are eyes of hazel? noses Grecian?
I've lost my rest by night, my peace by day,
For want of some brown Holland or Venetian,
Over the way.
I've gazed too often, till my heart's as lost
As any needle in a stack of hay:
Crosses belong to love, and mine is crossed
Over the way!
I cannot read or write, or thoughts relax —
Of what avail Lord Althorp or Earl Grey?
They cannot ease me of my window-tax
Over the way!
Even on Sunday my devotions vary,
And from St. Bennet Fink they go astrav
To dear St. Mary Overy — the Mary
Over the way!
Oh! if my godmother were but a fairy,
With magic wand, how I would beg and pray
That she would change me into that canary
Over the way!
I envy every thing that's near Miss Lindo,
A pug, a poll, a squirrel or a jay —
Blest blue-bottles! that buzz about the window
Over the way!
Even at even, for there be no shutters,
I see her reading on, from grave to gay,
Some tale or poem, till the candle gutters
Over the way!
And then — oh! then — while the clear waxen taper
Emits, two stories high, a starlike ray,
I see twelve auburn curls put into paper
Over the way!
But how breathe unto her my deep regards,
Or ask her for a whispered ay or nay, —
Or offer her my hand, some thirty yards
Over the way?
Cold as the pole she is to my adoring; —
Like Captain Lyon, at Repulse's Bay,
I meet an icy end to my exploring
Over the way!
Each dirty little Savoyard that dances
She looks on — Punch — or chimney-sweeps in May:
Zounds! wherefore cannot I attract her glances
Over the way?
Half out she leans to watch a tumbling brat,
Or yelping cur, run over by a dray;
But I'm in love — she never pities that!
Over the way!
I go to the same church — a love-lost labour;
Haunt all her walks, and dodge her at the play;
She does not seem to know she has a neighbour
Over the way!
At private theatres she never acts;
No Crown-and-Anchor balls her fancy sway;
She never visits gentlemen with tracts
Over the way!
To billets-doux by post she shows no favour —
In short, there is no plot that I can lay
To break my window-pains to my enslaver
Over the way!
I play the flute, she heeds not my chromatics,
No friend an introduction can purvey;
I wish a fire would break out in the attics
Over the way!
My wasted form ought of itself to touch her:
My baker feels my appetite's decay;
And as for butcher's meat — oh! she's my butcher
Over the way!
At beef I turn; at lamb or veal I pout;
I never ring now to bring up the tray;
My stomach grumbles at my dining out
Over the way!
I'm weary of my life; without regret
I could resign this miserable clay
To lie within that box of mignonette
Over the way!
I've fitted bullets to my pistol-bore;
I've vowed at times to rush where trumpets bray,
Quite sick of number one — and number four
Over the way!
Sometimes my fancy builds up castles airy.
Sometimes it only paints a ferme orne├®,
A horse, a cow, six fowls, a pig, and Mary,
Over the way!
Sometimes I dream of her in bridal white,
Standing before the altar, like a fay;
Sometimes of balls, and neighbourly invite
Over the way!
I've cooed with her in dreams, like any turtle,
I've snatched her from the Clyde, the Tweed, and Tay;
Thrice I have made a grove of that one myrtle
Over the way!
Thrice I have rowed her in a fairy shallop,
Thrice raced to Gretna in a neat " po-shay, "
And showered crowns to make the horses gallop
Over the way!
And thrice I've started up from dreams appalling
Of killing rivals in a bloody fray —
There is a young man very fond of calling
Over the way!
Oh! happy man — above all kings in glory,
Whoever in her ear may say his say,
And add a tale of love to that one story
Over the way!
Nabob of Arcot — Despot of Japan —
Sultan of Persia — Emperor of Cathay —
Much rather would I be the happy man
Over the way!
With such a lot my heart would be in clover —
But what — O horror! — what do I survey!
Postilions and white favours! — all is over
Over the way!
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