OF QUARRELS, AND CHANGES, AND CHANGELINGS, I SING.
Of quarrels, and changes, and changelings, I sing,
Of courtiers and cuckolds, too; God save the King!
Now Munster’s fat grace lies in somebody’s place,
And hopeful and so forth are turned out to grass;
O, G—e, thou’st done wisely to make such a pother
Between one German w—e and the son of another.
Now that son of another, so stubborn and rusty,
Is turn’d out of doors, and thy favors, most justly,
Since he was so unwise as his child to baptize,
He may e’en thank himself if you bastardize.
For there ne’er would have been all this wrangling work,
If, instead of a Christian, he had bred him a Turk.
The youth that so long had dwelt under thy roof,
Might sure have found out, by many a good proof,
That you ne’er were so mild as to be reconciled,
If once you’re provok’d, to man, woman, or child.
But, alas, for poor England, what hopes can be had
From a prince not so wise as to know his own dad!
Were he twice more thy son than e’er anyone thought him,
There are forty and forty good reasons to out him,
For he trod on the toe of a gallant young beau,
And made it so sore that he hardly could go;
And unless for this due correction he feels,
Who knows but he soon may tread on thy own heels!
Of your heels, oh! take care, let no one abuse ’em,
For it may be you’ll soon have occasion to use ’em,
For if J—y should land, you’d soon understand
That one pair of heels is worth two pair of hands;
And then the pert whipster will find, I suppose,
Other work for his feet than to tread on folk’s toes.