Ballad of women i love
Prudence Mears hath an old blue plateHid away in an oaken chest,And a Franklin platter of ancient dateBeareth Amandy Baker's crest;What times soever I've been their guest,Says I to myself in an undertone:"Of womenfolk, it must be confessed,These do I love, and these alone."
Well, again, in the Nutmeg State,Dorothy Pratt is richly blestWith a relic of art and a land effete--A pitcher of glass that's cut, not pressed.And a Washington teapot is possessedDown in Pelham by Marthy Stone--Think ye now that I say in jest"These do I love, and these alone?"
Were Hepsy Higgins inclined to mate,Or Dorcas Eastman prone to investIn Cupid's bonds, they could find their fateIn the bootless bard of Crockery Quest.For they've heaps of trumpery--so have the restOf those spinsters whose ware I'd like to own;You can see why I say with such certain zest,"These do I love, and these alone."
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