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The Fancy Fair.
By Thomas Moore
Come, maids and youths, for here we sell
All wondrous things of earth and air;
Whatever wild romancers tell,
Or poets sing, or lovers swear,
You'll find at this our Fancy Fair.
Here eyes are made like stars to shine,
And kept for years in such repair,
That even when turned of thirty-nine,
They'll hardly look the worse for wear,
If bought at this our Fancy Fair.
We've lots of tears for bards to shower,
And hearts that such ill usage bear,
That, tho' they're broken every hour,
They'll still in rhyme fresh breaking bear,
If purchased at our Fancy Fair.
As fashions change in every thing,
We've goods to suit each season's air,
Eternal friendships for the spring,
And endless loves for summer wear,--
All sold at this our Fancy Fair.
We've reputations white as snow,
That long will last if used with care,
Nay, safe thro' all life's journey go,
If packed and marked as "brittle ware,"--
Just purchased at the Fancy Fair.
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