LXXVIII

4 0 00

LXXVIII

“Dropp’d my gold watch, and kill’d a kettledrum⁠—

It went for apoplexy⁠—foolish folks!⁠—

Left it to pay the piper⁠—a good sum⁠—

(I’ve got a conscience, maugre people’s jokes,)

To scrape a little favour; ’gan to coax

Her Highness’ pug-dog⁠—got a sharp rebuff⁠—

She wish’d a game at whist⁠—made three revokes⁠—

Turn’d from myself, her partner, in a huff;

His Majesty will know her temper time enough.