Oh, strangely sweet this lot doth seem;
A female widder is my theme.
I would not hurt a hair of he,
Yet, did he from earth’s toils escape,
I could most reconciléd be,
Could sweetly mourn, e’en without crape,
Could say, without a pang of pain,
That Simon’s loss was Betsey’s gain.
I’ve told the plain tale of my woes,
With no deceit, or language vain,