Wishing—so much you dote upon 'em—
That you could recollect 'more on 'em.'
Then while your rhapsody she blames,
Though plain you've set her all in flames,
Of which, when giving some intense sign,
Tell her you know the sweetest Ensign,
"Who'd bleed to death to own her sway
Down on his knees, that very day."
How to her honour 'twou'd redound,
To give him forty thousand pound!