Sir John Suckling

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,
As if they feared the read more

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,
As if they feared the light:
But oh! she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter day
Is half so fine a sight.

A health to the nut-brown lass,
With the hazel eyes: let it pass.
. . . .
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A health to the nut-brown lass,
With the hazel eyes: let it pass.
. . . .
As much to the lively grey
'Tis as good i' th' night as day:
. . . .
She's a savour to the glass,
And excuse to make it pass.

'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear;
Heaven were not Heaven, if we knew what it were.

'Tis expectation makes a blessing dear;
Heaven were not Heaven, if we knew what it were.