Oh! love, rock firm when chimney-pots were shaken,
A pettish breath will into huffs awaken,
To spit like hump-back’d cats, and snarling Towzers!
Till hearts are wreck’d and founder’d, and forsaken,
As ships go to Old Davy, Lord knows how, Sirs,
While heav’n is blue enough for Dutchmen’s trowsers!
“The moon’s at full, love, and I think of you”—
Who would have thought that such a kind P.S.
Could make a man turn white, then red, then blue,
Then black, and knit his eyebrows and compress