The LINK. A BALLAD. Robert Lowth 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. T131163 K104099.004 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. IV. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 115-117. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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The LINK. A BALLAD . YE ladies that live in the city or town , Fair Winton or Alresford so fine and so gay ; And ye neat country lasses in clean linen gown , As neat and as blithe and as pretty as they : Come away strait to Ovington , for you can't think What a charming new walk there is made on the Link . Look how lovely the prospect , the meadows how green , The fields and the woods , in the vale or the hill : The trees , and the cotage that peeps out between , The clear stream that runs bubbling in many a rill , That will show your fair face as you stand on the brink , And murmurs most sweetly all under the Link . How pleasant the morning , how clear the blue sky , How pure the fresh air , and how healthy the place ! Your heart goes a pit-a-pat light as a fly , And the blood circles briskly , and glows in your face : Wou'd you paint your fair cheeks with the rose and the pink ? Throw your washes away , take a walk on the Link . After dinner the 'squire ere the ladies retreat , Marches off with some friends that will ply the brisk glass ; Gives us liquor enough , and a good pleasant seat , And damns your fine taste , and your finical lass : Al fresco , my lads , we'll carouse and we'll drink , Take your bottle each man , and away to the Link . Not so gentle Collin , whom love holds in thrall , To Molly he steals all in silence away ; And when nought can be heard but the rude water-fall , And the woodbine breathes sweetest at close of the day , He takes her soft hand , and he tips her the wink , Come , my dear , let us take a cool walk on the Link . But , O ye fair maidens , be sure have a care , Nor lay yourselves open to love's cruel dart ; Of the hour and the place and the season beware , And guard well each passage that leads to your heart ; Sly Cupid will steal in at some little chink , If you walk in the evening too late on the Link . Ye poets so lofty , who love to retire From the noise of the town to the stream and the wood ; Who in epics and tragics , with marvellous fire , Utter sounds by mere mortals not well understood : Here mouthe your loud strain , and here ply pen and ink , Quit Parnassus and Pindus , and come to the Link . And come you , who for thought are at little expence , Who indite gentle pastoral , ballad , or song ; You see with smooth numbers , and not too much sense , How the verses run easy and glibly along ; And the rhime at the close how it falls with a clink , So kind are the Muses that sport on the Link .