Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BALLAD TO THE TUNE - 'BUT I FANCY LOVELY NANCY', by PATRICK CAREY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BALLAD TO THE TUNE - 'BUT I FANCY LOVELY NANCY', by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Surely now I'm out of danger
Last Line: That's some joy in misery.
Subject(s): Women


I

SURELY now I'm out of danger,
And no more need fear my heart;
Who loves thus to be a ranger,
Ne'er will fix in any part;
All the graces
Of fair faces
I have seen, and yet am free:
I like many, but not any
Shall subdue my libertee.

II

Anne was once the word which moved
Most my heart, I'll it avow;
Twelve at least so call'd, I've loved,
But I care not for them now:
Yet if ever
I endeavour
For a mistress, that's her name;
These are fancies,
But with Nancies
Luckiest still hath been my flame.

III

With three Betties I was taken;
Yet no more, than whilst in sight:
One of them is now forsaken,
And her sister has her right.
T'other's pretty,
But (what pity!)
In a castle she is penn'd:
The third plenty
Has for twenty,
But she's courted by my friend.

IV

Lucies there are two; for beauty,
Virtue, wit, beyond compare:
Th' one's too high for love, in duty
I respect, but no more dare:
As for t'other,
Though a mother
(As I take't) to half a score;
Had she tarried
To be married,
She'd have had one suitor more.

V

I know two, and each a Mary,
One's the greatest of this land:
Th' Oxford-vintner made me wary
Least I should a-gazing stand.
Though I like her,
Most unlike her
Is the second; and I swear,
Had her portion
Some proportion
With my wants, I'd marry there.

VI

Katherne has a lip that's ruddy,
Swelling so, it seems to pout;
How to kiss her I did study,
But could never bring't about.
Beauteous Frances
Loves romances,
But (alas!) she's now a wife;
She makes verses,
And rehearses
With great grace Primaleon's life.

VII

Doll has purest breasts much whiter
Than their milk, but naked still;
That's the reason why I slight her,
For I'd seen them to my fill.
Jane is slender,
But God send her
Less opinion of her race!
Nell's so spotted
That sh' has blotted
Almost out, her little face.

VIII

Peg is blithe; but O she tattles;
Nothing's so demure as Ruth.
Susan's head is full of rattles,
Rachel preacheth well, in truth.
Were not Tolly
Melancholy,
She hath parts I most could prize:
Amorous Sophy
Rears no trophy
On my heart, with her grey eyes.

IX

Thus I still find somewhat wanting,
Always full of ifs, or ands;
Where there's beauty, money's scanting;
Something still my choice withstands.
'Tis my fortune,
I'll importune
With no my prayers my destiny:
If I'm scorned,
I'm not horned;
That's some joy in misery.





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