Faint Heart

I pray you, dear, My little hamlet leave, Nor break my willow-boughs; ’Tis not that I should grieve, But I fear my sire to rouse. Love pleads with passion disarrayed,— "A sire's commands must be obeyed." I pray you, dear, Leap not across my wall, Nor break my mulberry-boughs; Not that I fear their fall, But, lest my brother's wrath should rouse, Love pleads with passion disarrayed,— "A brother's words must be obeyed." I pray you, dear, Steal not my garden down, Nor break my sandal-trees; Not that I care for these, But, oh! I dread the talk of town. Should lovers have their wilful way, Whatever would the neighbours say?