To-day you made game at my back:
You think that my eyes are grown dimmer,
But I watch’d you, I’ve got a sly knack!
And I’ll have you to know I’m a Trimmer.
Don’t think that my temper is hot,
It’s never beyond a slow simmer;
I’ll teach you to call me Dame Trot,
But I’ll have you to know I’m a Trimmer.
Miss Edgeworth, or Mrs. Chapone,
Might melt to behold your tears glimmer;