The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
HAWSER TO SUSAN.
Miss Susan, I think it in vain
To groan any more for that face;
Your behaviour hath prov'd it so plain,
That to others I give up the chase.
To groan any more for that face;
Your behaviour hath prov'd it so plain,
That to others I give up the chase.
Very wisely resolved, Mr. Lieutenant.
About love I shall make no more pother—
You know that I'm not very rich;
Yet I'd man you as well as another,
And stick to your timbers like pitch.
You know that I'm not very rich;
Yet I'd man you as well as another,
And stick to your timbers like pitch.
Nice sticking-plaister indeed!
I am out in my reck'ning, 'tis clear,
As your frowns and your cruelties prove—
Since I thought to have anchor'd, my dear,
In your arms, that sweet harbour of love.
As your frowns and your cruelties prove—
Since I thought to have anchor'd, my dear,
In your arms, that sweet harbour of love.
Very elegant, tender, and metaphorical!
259
And though you so scornful are grown,
Let justice be done, by the Lord!
You're a smart little frigate, I own,
As a seaman would wish for to board.
Let justice be done, by the Lord!
You're a smart little frigate, I own,
As a seaman would wish for to board.
Thank ye, Mr. Lieutenant
(curtsies).
Yet, Susan, before we depart,
And I beg thou'lt not take it unkind,
Since your sneers have restor'd me my heart,
If I give thee a piece of my mind.
And I beg thou'lt not take it unkind,
Since your sneers have restor'd me my heart,
If I give thee a piece of my mind.
By all means, Mr. Hawser.
Instead of my tears and my sighs,
Which you, laughing, call'd Love's water-gruel,
Could guineas have rain'd from my eyes,
By G--- thou hadst never been cruel.
Which you, laughing, call'd Love's water-gruel,
Could guineas have rain'd from my eyes,
By G--- thou hadst never been cruel.
Impudent rogue!
And yet, should the wind chop about,
And thy mouth cease this d*mn'd squally weather,
Let us send for old Thump-cushion out,
And swing in a hammock together.
And thy mouth cease this d*mn'd squally weather,
Let us send for old Thump-cushion out,
And swing in a hammock together.
Never, never, indeed, poor swain.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |