Dear Betsey now Pleasure the woodland has left,
Nor more in the water she laves,
Since winter the trees of their bloom has bereft,
And stiffen'd to crystal the waves.
Now clad all in fur our guest she appears,
By the fire-side a merry young grig;
She pours out the wine, our pensiveness cheers,
And at night leads us out to a jig.
Then venture among the tall pines if you dare,
Encounter the keen arctic wind;
Dare this for to meet with affection sincere,
And Pleasure untainted you'll find.
I know you have Pleasure, my sister, by whiles,
But then she appears in great state;
She is hard of access, and lofty her smiles,
While Envy and Pride on her wait.
Thro' drawing rooms, Betsey, you'll chase her in vain,
The Colonel may seek her in blood;
The Poets agree (and they cannot all feign)
That she's born and resides in the wood.