AT Backworth sung till echo rung, <br /> A bard whose feelings were, <br />In what to young and old he sung <br /> Of little Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />'Tho' Lizzy's sweet and Polly's neat, <br /> And Fanny she is fair, <br />There's truly none, was never one, <br /> So blithe as Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />In doors and out she stirs about <br /> As if she felt aware, <br />By labour glows more red the rose <br /> That dowereth Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />A duty here with forehead clear, <br /> With grace a duty there, <br />She'll do, and do what very few <br /> Can do, will Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />She, knitting, will a ditty trill <br /> And, to an olden air, <br />The needles bright dance left and right <br /> Of sweet-tongued Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />Beneath her touch, its power is such, <br /> As bright as palace rare, <br />The cottage seems, and in it gleams <br /> A Queen in Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />The pots and mugs and pans and jugs <br /> Into their places fare, <br />And clearer glow and dearer grow <br /> When touched by Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />The bread she bakes, the beds she makes, <br /> And up and down the stair, <br />On tripping toe will dancing go <br /> The tidy Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />To words of mirth she scours the hearth, <br /> While in his easy chair <br />Old Robin lies and, smoking, eyes <br /> With pride his Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />Her pail to fill she'll to the rill, <br /> Or to the well, and there <br />Doth clearly see Truth's self, for she <br /> Therein sees Dolly Dare. <br /> <br />Tis thus away she'll while the day, <br /> And then to me repair, <br />When envy smit the moments flit <br /> O'er me and Dolly Dare.' <br /> <br />The bard his song so sung and long, <br /> Tho' plain his verses were, <br />Wagged every tongue with what he sung <br /> Of little Dolly Dare.<br /><br />Joseph Skipsey<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dolly-dare/
