'A pot of mild porter, and take off the chill,'
A damsel came smirking, in curls, cap, and frill.
I started! she scream'd! 'twas my Dora! off flew
Flank, buttock, greens, carrots, and peas-pudding too!
'Yes, I am your true love!' she curtsey'd, and said,
'At home I'ma widow, but here I'm a maid!
My spouse kick'd the bucket last Sunday at Leeds,
And left me, a rose-bud, all cover'd with weeds.'
'For all your fine speeches, a widow, in fine,
Is an article madam, I mean to decline I