LOVE LETTER.
Hast thou no pity for my woes?
Dost thou at me turn up thy nose ?
I’ll make my declaration first,
So read straight forward and be curst,—
But if your heart to me incline,
Oh ! jump o’er every other line !
Hast thou no pity for my woes?
Dost thou at me turn up thy nose ?
I’ll make my declaration first,
So read straight forward and be curst,—
But if your heart to me incline,
Oh ! jump o’er every other line !