The LASS with the golden Locks. BALLAD II. Christopher Smart Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T42626 K041581.000 Smart, Christopher, 1722-1771. Poems on several occasions: By Christopher Smart, A. M. Fellow of Pembroke-Hall, Cambridge. London printed for the author, by W. Strahan; and sold by J. Newbery, at the Bible and Sun, in St. Paul’s Church-Yard, MDCCLII. 1752 pp. 198-199. [16],230p.,plates; 4⁰.

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The LASS with the golden Locks . BALLAD II . I. NO more of my Harriot , of Polly no more , Nor all the bright beauties that charm'd me before ; My heart for a slave to gay Venus I've sold , And barter'd my freedom for ringlets of gold : I'll throw down my pipe , and neglect all my flocks , And will sing to my lass with the golden locks . II . Tho' o'er her white forehead the gilt tresses flow , Like the rays of the sun on a hillock of snow ; Such painters of old drew the Queen of the Fair , 'Tis the taste of the antients , 'tis classical hair : And tho' witlings may scoff , and tho' raillery mocks , Yet I'll sing to my lass with the golden locks . III . To live and to love , to converse and be free , Is loving , my charmer , and living with thee : Away go the hours in kisses and rhime , Spite of all the grave lectures of old father Time ; A fig for his dials , his watches and clocks , He's best spent with the lass of the golden locks . IV . Than the swan in the brook she's more dear to my sight , Her mien is more stately , her breast is more white , Her sweet lips are rubies , all rubies above , Which are fit for the language or labour of love ; At the park in the mall , at the play in the box , My lass bears the bell with her golden locks . V. Her beautiful eyes , as they roll or they flow , Shall be glad for my joy , or shall weep for my woe ; She shall ease my fond heart , and shall sooth my soft pain , While thousands of rivals are sighing in vain ; Let them rail at the fruit they can't reach , like the fox , While I have the lass with the golden locks .