|
At church, in silks and satins new, With hoop of monstrous size, She never slumber’d in her pew— |
| But when she shut her eyes. |
|
Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux and more; The King himself has follow’d her— |
| When she has walk’d before. |
|
But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short-all: The Doctors found, when she was dead Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent Street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more,— She had not died to-day. |
