NEW STYLE by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

I VERY much indeed approve
Of maidens moderating love
Until they've twenty pounds;
Then Prudence, with a poet's praise,
May loose the laces of their stays,
And let them quest like hounds.

Peggy, my theme, twelve years ago
(Or better) did precisely so:
She lived at farmer Spence's;
She scoured the pantry, milked the cows,
And answered every would-be spouse,
'D'ye think I've lost my senses?'

Until the twenty pounds were safe,
She tifled at Tim, she ran from Ralph,
Squire nodded--deuce a curtsy!
Sam thought her mopish, Silas proud,
And Jedediah cried aloud.
'Pray who the devil hurts ye?'

But now the twenty pounds were got,
She knew the fire to boil the pot.
She knew the man to trust to.
I'm glad I gave this tidy lass
(Under my roof) a cheerful glass
(Of water) and a crust too.

Although the seventeenth of May,
It was a raw and misty day
When Ebenezer Smart,
(The miller's lad of Boxholm-mill)
Having obtained her right good-will
And prudent virgin heart,

Led her to church: and Joseph Stead
(The curate of said Boxholm) read
The service; and Will Sands
(The clerk) repeated the response
(They after him) which uttered once
Holds fast two plighted hands.

And now they live aside the weir,
And (on my conscience) I declare
As merrily as larks.
This I can vouch for: I went in
One day and sat upon the bin
While Peggy hemmed two sarks.

I do not say two sarks entire,
Collar and wristband; these require
(I reckon) some time more;
But mainly two stout sarks, the tail
And fore-flap, stiff as coat of mail
On knight in days of yore.

I told my sister and our maid
(Anne Waddlewell) how long I stayed
With Peggy: 'twas until her
Dinner-time: we expect, before
Eight or (at most) nine months are o'er,
Another little miller.

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