was pensively walking one day,
Three pretty tight lasses he met in his way:
And who should they be, that were taking the air,
But , and , and  so fair.
The swain, who to beauty had never been blind,
Thought this was the season to tell 'em his mind:
But first he debated, to which lovely lass
He should offer his tenders, and open his case.
That  was pretty he could not deny,
But , he thought, had the sprightliest eye;
So on her his affections they rested awhile,
'Till  appear'd, with a look and a smile:
With a look and a smile which sure mischief had done,
Had the swain been encounter'd by  alone.