And when I die—What! may I this believe?
}
Are these true tender tears? and does my Kitty grieve?
Ah! crafty vixen, thine old man has fears;
But weep no more! I'm melted by thy tears;
Spare but my money; thou shalt rule ME still,
60
And see thy cousins—there! I burn the will."—
Thus, with example sad, our year began,
A wanton vixen and a weary man;