Ah ! who would think, a thing so white
Could e'er offend, a maiden's sight ?
Oh who so fair a thing would shun ?
Why one would think the cloistered nun.
From penance free, might look upon,
And read thee by her holy taper.

Mamma says thou art marked within,
With thoughts of frailty and sin ;
That cloistered nun, thou soon would'st move
From beads and prayer books, off to rove,
Forget cohl vows, and live for love
Thou wicked little piece of paper !

Mamma's experience tells her so—
I'm sure I want experience too ;
So pretty little billet-doux
Why should I pout, and frown and vapour ?
What though Mamma may not approve ?
One burning thought she can't remove—
They live iojoy who live to love !
Thou darling little piece of paper.