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Two children left on my hands,
They took a trifle maintaining too;
With Hymen again link'd in bands,
My wife look'd rather disdaining too:
Her cash, like trout, I must tickle,
She's brisk, and forswears melancholy too;
Tho her walk's rather rumbusticle,
And her name's Gimlet-ey'd Molly too.

(Speaking).
She left me an only daughter—and the parson of the parish took a liking to her—and what do you think she did? she mended the parson's black stockings with white worsted, and sent him hopping to church like a magpye.—Oh! she's a chearful lass, and always singing,

Ka ba, wa wa, &c.