For the Poughkeepsie Advertiser.

The Milk Maid's answer to the Shepherd's address.
(Wrote by Sir Walter Raliegh.)

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
Then Philomel becometh dumb,
And age complains of care to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To way-ward winter reckoning yields,
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
In fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall;

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kettle, and thy roses,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasp, and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.

What should we talk of dainties tehn,
Of better meat than's fit for men?
These are but fain: that's only good
Which heav'n hath blest, and sent for food.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need;
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
R--.