HENRY

CAREY.

-1748.

"A VULGAR error having long prevailed among many persons, who imagine Sally Salisbury the subject of this ballad, the Author begs leave to undeceive and assure them it has not the least allusion to her, he being a stranger to her very name at the time this Song was composed. For as innocence and virtue were ever the boundaries to his Muse, so in this little poem he had no other view than to set forth the beauty of a chaste and disinterested passion, even in the lowest class of human life. The real occasion was this: a Shoemaker's 'Prentice making holiday with his Sweetheart, treated her with a sight of Bedlam, the puppet-shews, the flying-chairs, and all the elegancies of Moorfields: from whence proceeding to the Farthing-pye-house, he gave her a collation of buns, cheese-cakes, gammon of bacon, stuff'd beef, and bottled ale; through all which scenes the Author dodg'd them (charm'd with the simplicity of their courtship) from whence he drew this little sketch of nature; but being then young and obscure, he was very much ridiculed by some of his acquaintance for this performance; which nevertheless made its way into the polite world, and amply recompensed him by the applause of the divine Addison, who was pleased (more than once) to mention it with approbation."-CAREY'S POEMS, 3d edition, 1729.

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.

Of all the girls that are so smart,
There's none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

There is no lady in the land

Is half so sweet as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,

And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage nets,

And through the streets does cry 'em;

Her mother she sells laces long,

To such as please to buy 'em:

But sure such folks could ne'er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work,
I love her so sincerely;
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely:
But let him bang his belly full,
I'll bear it all for Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week,
I dearly love but one day,

And that's the day that comes betwixt
The Saturday and Monday.

For then I'm dressed in all my best,
To walk abroad with Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church,
And often am I blamed,
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;

I leave the church in sermon-time,
And slink away to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again,
O then I shall have money;

I'll hoard it up, and, box and all,
I'll give it to my honey:

I would it were ten thousand pound,
I'd give it all to Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.

My master, and the neighbours all,
Make game of me and Sally;
And (but for her) I'd better be
A slave and row a galley;

But when my seven long years are out,
O then I'll marry Sally:

O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, But not in our alley.

CHARLES HAMILTON.

LORD BINNING.

-1732.

THE SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT.

DID ever swain a nymph adore,
As I ungrateful Nanny do?
Was ever shepherd's heart so sore?
Was ever broken heart so true?

My eyes are swelled with tears; but she
Has never shed a tear for me.

If Nanny called, did Robin stay,

Or linger when she bid me run?

She only had the word to say,

And all she asked was quickly done:

I always thought on her, but she
Would ne'er bestow a thought on me.

To let her cows my clover taste,

Have I not rose by break of day?

When did her heifers ever fast,

If Robin in his yard had hay? Though to my fields they welcome were, I never welcome was to her.

If Nanny ever lost a sheep,

I cheerfully did give her two:

Did not her lambs in safety sleep

Within my folds in frost and snow? Have they not there from cold been free? But Nanny still is cold to me.

Whene'er I climbed our orchard trees,

The ripest fruit was kept for Nan; O how those hands that drowned her bees

Were stung I'll ne'er forget the pain! Sweet were the combs, as sweet could be; But Nanny ne'er looked sweet on me.

If Nanny to the well did come,

'Twas I that did her pitchers fill; Full as they were, I brought them home; Her corn I carried to the mill.

My back did bear her sacks; but she
Would never bear the sight of me.

To Nanny's poultry oats I gave,

I'm sure they always had the best; Within this week her pigeons have

Eat up a peck of peas at least;

Her little pigeons kiss; but she
Would never take a kiss from me.

Must Robin always Nanny woo,

And Nanny still on Robin frown?
Alas, poor wretch! what shall I do,

If Nanny does not. love me soon?
If no relief to me she'll bring,
I'll hang me on her apron string.