C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Henry Carey (1687?–1743)
Sally in Our Alley
O
There’s none like pretty Sally;
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
There is no lady in the land
Is half so sweet as Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
And through the streets does cry ’em;
Her mother she sells laces long
To such as please to buy ’em:
But sure such folks could ne’er beget
So sweet a girl as Sally!
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
I love her so sincerely:
My master comes like any Turk,
And bangs me most severely;
But let him bang his bellyful,
I’ll bear it all for Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
I dearly love but one day,
And that’s the day that comes betwixt
A Saturday and Monday;
For then I’m drest all in my best
To walk abroad with Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
And often am I blamed
Because I leave him in the lurch
As soon as text is named;
I leave the church in sermon-time
And slink away to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Oh then I shall have money:
I’ll hoard it up, and box it all,
I’ll give it to my honey.
I would it were ten thousand pound,
I’d give it all to Sally:
She is the darling of my heart,
And she lives in our alley.
Make game of me and Sally;
And but for her, I’d better be
A slave and row a galley:
But when my seven long years are out,
Oh then I’ll marry Sally;
Oh then we’ll wed, and then we’ll bed—
But not in our alley.