IV
When the bugs in swarms round me wou'd oftentimes play,
And Nancy and I were as frisky as they,
We laugh'd at their biting, and kiss'd all the time,
For the spring of her beauty was just in its prime!
But now for their frolics I never can sleep,
So I crack 'em by dozens, as o'er me they creep:
Curse blight you! I cry, while I'm all over smart,
For I'm bit by the arse, while I'm stung to the heart.
V
The barber I ever was pleased to see,
With his paigtail come scraping to Nancy and me;
And Nancy was pleas'd too, and to the man said,
Come hither, young fellow, and frizzle my head:
But now when he's bowing, I up with my stick,
Cry, blast you, you scoundrel! and give him a kick—
And I'll lend him another, for why should not John
Be as dull as poor Dermot, when Nancy is gone?