University of Virginia Library

Thus spoke the saint!—When Morn her blushes spread,
To Covent-garden's square she wing'd her flight,
And drew the curtains of the poet's bed,
Who fortunately slept alone that night.
To him she told her story o'er and o'er;
When Peter, rous'd by Marg'ret's sad narration,
Pull'd off his night-cap, and devoutly swore
He'd roast a certain ruler of a nation.
Saint Marg'ret thank'd the bard with sweetest smiles,
And Peter thunder'd on the King of Isles.