FROM A COBBLER.
Whenever I’m mending a shoe,
Ev’ry thing in my stall that I view,
To my doating remembrance brings you,
While my heart in my bosom goes thump.
The best callimanco’s your hair,
Your skin is the lining so fair,
My awl to your eyes I compare,
That wounded the heart of poor Clump.
Your teeth, which like ivory show,
Are the pegs in a white even row,
Which I drive, while at every blow
My heart in my bosom goes thump.
Each object of you seems a part,
Your wit, that’s so piercing and smart,
Is my knife, but my lapstone your heart,
Which will not let you pity poor Clump.