The Patowmac Guardian, And Berkeley Advertiser

SEAT OF THE MUSES.

SONG.

From the Batchelor: or, "Lock and Key."

Woman is like to--but stay--
What a woman is like, who can say?
There's no living with or without one--
Lovers like a fly,
Draw near an ear, or an eye--
Buz, buz, always buzzing about one,
When she's tender and kind,
She is like to my mind,
(And Fanny was so, I remember)
She's like--Oh dear!
She's as good very near
As a ripe melting peach in September.

If she laugh and she chat,
Play, joke, and all that,
And with smiles and good humour she meets me,
She is like a rich dish,
Crisp, loo and lush,
That cries from the table, "come eat me."

But she'll plague you, and vex you,
Tease, fret, and perplex you,
Fickle hearted, and ranging,
Untaught and changing.
What then do you think she's like?
Like a rock?
Like a wheel? like a clock?
Aye, like a clock that is always at strike.

Her head's like the island Falkland tell on,
Which no thing but monkeys can dwell on,
Her heart's like a lemon--so nice,
She gives every lover a slice:
I. troth she's to me,
Like- the wind, like the sea,
Which raging will hearken to no man

Like a mill,
Like a bill,
Like a flail.
Like a whale,
Like an ass,
Like a glass,
Where image is constant to no man

Like a flow'r,
Like a show'r,
Like a fly,
Like a pye,
Like a pea,
Like a sea,
Like a thief,
Like--in brief
She's like nothing on earth--but a woman.