Classic Poem

Did fortune bid me chuse a state
From all that's rich, and all that's great,
From all that ostentation brings,
The splendor, pride, and pomp of kings;

These gifts, and more, did she display,
With health, that felt not life's decay,
I'd spurn with scorn the useless lot,
Were my Camilla's name forgot.

II.

But did she for my fate assign,
That I should labour in a mine;
Or, with many wretches more,
In slavery chain me to an oar;

Or from the sight of men exiled,
Send me to a Siberian wild,
For this and more would she atone,
Were my Camilla all my own.

Sweet ditties would my Patty sing,
Old Chevy Chase, God save the King,
Fair Rosemy, and Sawny Scot,
Lilebularo, the Irish Trot,
All these would sing my blue-ey'd Patty.

As with her pail she'd trudge along,
While still the burthen of her song
My hammer beat to blue-ey'd Patty.

II.

But nipping frosts and chilling rain
Too soon alas choak'd every strain;
Too loon, alas! the miry way
Her wet shed feet did sore dismay,
And hea se was heard my blue-ey'd Patty.

While I for very mad did cry;
Ah could I but again, said I,
Hear the sweet voice of blue-ey'd Patty?

III.

Love taught me how — I work'd, I sung,
My anvil glow'd, my hammer rung,
Till I had form'd from out the fire,
To bear her feet above the mire,
An engine for my blue-ey'd Patty.

Again was heard each tuneful close,
My fair one on the patten rose,
Which takes its name from blue-ey'd Patty.