lucky prove!
For L is found in 'Lubberkin' and 'Love.'
_With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around._

* * * * *

This lady-fly I take from off the grass,
Whose spotted back might scarlet red surpass:
'Fly, lady-bird, north, south, or east, or west!
Fly where the man is found that I love best!'
He leaves my hand: see, to the west he's flown,
To call my true-love from the faithless town.
_With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around._

This mellow pippin, which I pare around,
My shepherd's name shall flourish on the ground:
I fling th' unbroken paring o'er my head--
Upon the grass a perfect L is read.
Yet on my heart a fairer L is seen
Than what the paring marks upon the green.
_With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around._

This pippin shall another trial make.
See, from the core two kernels brown I take:
This on my cheek for Lubberkin is worn,
And Boobyclod on t' other side is borne;
But Boobyclod soon drops upon the ground
(A certain token that his love's unsound),
While Lubberkin sticks firmly to the last--
Oh, were his lips to mine but joined so fast!
_With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around._

As Lubberkin once slept beneath a tree,
I twitched his dangling garter from his knee;
He wist not when the hempen string I drew.
Now mine I quickly doff of inkle blue;
Together fast I tie the garters twain,
And while I knit the knot repeat this strain:
'Three times a true-love's knot I tie secure;
Firm be the knot, firm may his love endure!'
_With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around._

As I was wont I trudged last market-day
To town, with new-laid eggs preserved in hay.
I made my market long before 'twas night;
My purse grew heavy and my basket light:
Straight to the 'pothecary's shop I went,
And in love-powder all my money spent.
Behap what will, next Sunday after prayers,
When to the alehouse Lubberkin repairs,
These golden flies into his mug I'll throw,
And soon the swain with fervent love shall glow.
_With my sharp heel I three times mark the ground,
And turn me thrice around, around, around._

But hold! our Lightfoot bark