 | Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn |  |
ODE FIFTH, BOOK FIRST.
To Molly M'Whirter.
What Exquisite, tell me, besprinkled with civet,
With bergamot, and l'huile antique a la rose,
Now presses thee, Molly, (I scarce can believe it,)
To march to the Parson, and finish his woes?
With bergamot, and l'huile antique a la rose,
Now presses thee, Molly, (I scarce can believe it,)
To march to the Parson, and finish his woes?
For whom do you comb, brush, and fillet your tresses;—
Whoever he be has not sorrows to seek;
Thou daily shalt bring him a peck of distresses;
Then kick him, and kiss a new gallant next week.
Whoever he be has not sorrows to seek;
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Then kick him, and kiss a new gallant next week.
He trusts that you'll love him, and doat on him ever,
And thinks you a goddess reserved for himself;
But, Molly, there's too much red blood in your liver,
And antlers shall soon grace the poor silly elf.
And thinks you a goddess reserved for himself;
But, Molly, there's too much red blood in your liver,
And antlers shall soon grace the poor silly elf.
To some Johnny Raw thou wilt shine like a planet,
For lecturing Magnus has left thee behind;
And since I have escaped thee, (oh! blessings be on it,)
I will hang up an old coat in St. Mary Wynd.
For lecturing Magnus has left thee behind;
And since I have escaped thee, (oh! blessings be on it,)
I will hang up an old coat in St. Mary Wynd.
| Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn | |