If you don't get five hundred cool
When she gets married, you're a fool.
Ask where's the mortal can resist her?
Though none can, like yourself, assist her,
Yet make her fear that still you shan't,
Unless you're call'd a 'confidante.'
Put her in mind she's rich enough
To please herself,—has got the stuff;
Can choose from all mankind her prize,
Where'er she deigns to cast her eyes;