VI When the lad for longing sighs, Mute and dull of cheer and pale, If at d**h's own door he lies, Maiden, you can heal his ail. Lovers' ills are all to buy: The wan look, the hollow tone,
The hung head, the sunken eye, You can have them for your own. Buy them, buy them: eve and morn Lovers' ills are all to sell. Then you can lie down forlorn; But the lover will be well.