To His Coy One

SEEST thou yon smiling Orange?

Upon the tree still hangs it;

Already March bath vanish’d,

And new-born flow’rs are shooting.

I draw nigh to the tree then,

And there I say：Oh Orange,

Thou ripe and juicy[218]Orange，

Thou sweet and luscious Orange,

I shake the tree,I shake it,

Oh fall into my lap!

1789.