Sad Susan wav’d her head in woe,
The pudding too wav’d to and fro,
While she exclaim’d, I tell you, No,
[p29]
You barbarous man! you talk in vain:
I’ll never shew my face again:
I’ll have no case of gold, not I;
But lay me down at once, and die!
Nay, said her mate—it shan’t be so—
I’d sooner our last hope forego.
Our third wish will your peace restore,