Unseen, must blush in wintry snows,
Sweet, beauteous blossom!——’twas the Cook!
A bolder far than my weak note,
Maid of the Moor! thy charms demand:
Eels might be proud to lose their coat,
If skinn’d by Molly Dumpling’s hand.
Long had the fair one sat alone,
Had none remain’d save only she;—
She by herself had been—if one
Had not been left, for company.