A Garland for Marjory Fleming

I love in Isas bed to lie
O such a joy and luxury
The bottom of the bed I sleep *
And with great care I myself keep
Oft I embrace her feet of lillys
But she has goton all the pillies.
Her neck I never can embrace
But I do hug her feet in place
But I am sure I am contented
And of my follies am repented
I am sure I'd rather be
In a small bed at liberty

Three Turkeys fair their last have breathed
And now this worled for ever leaved
Their father and their mother too
Will sigh and weep as well as you
Mourning for their offspring fair
Whom they did nurse with tender care
Indeed the rats their bones have cranch'd
To Eternity are they launched
Their graceful form and pretty eyes
Their fellow fowls did not despise
A direful death indeed they had
That would put any parent mad
But she was more than usual calm
She did not give a single dam
Here ends this melancholy lay
Farewell poor turkeys I must say

Run off is Jessy Watson fair
Her eyes do sparkel, she's good hair
But Mrs. Leath you now shal be
Now and for all Eternity
Such merry spirits I do hate
But now it's over and to late
For to retract such vows you cant
And you must now love your galant
But I am sure you will repent
And your poor heart will then relent
Your poor poor father will repine
And so would I if you were mine
But now be good for this time past
And let this folly be your last

Here lies sweet Isabell in bed
Wearing a nightcap on her head
Her skin is soft her face is fair
And she has very pretty hair
She and I in bed lie nice
And undisturbed by rats or mice
She is disgusted by Mister Worgan
Although he plays upon the organ
A not of ribans on her head
Her cheak is tinged with concious red
Her nails are neat her teeth are white
Her eyes are very very bright
In a conspicuos town she lives
And to the poor her money gives
Here ends sweet Isabellas story
And may it be much to her glory

O lovely O most charming pug
Thy graceful air and heav'nly mug
The beauties of his mind do shine
And ev'ry bit is shaped so fine
Your very tail is most devine
Your teeth is whiter than the snow
You are a great buck and a bow
Your eyes are of so fine a shape
More like a christians than an ape
His cheeks is like the roses blume
Your hair is like the ravens plume
His noses cast is of the roman
He is a very pretty weoman
I could not get a rhyme for roman
And was oblidged to call it weoman