Burlesque Plays and Poems

by Unknown

With empty arms I'll bear you on my back."

Smith. A pick-a-pack, a pick-a-pack.

Bayes. Ay, egad, but is not that tuant now, ha? is it not

tuant? Here's the end.

"Then at your birth of immortality,

Like any wingéd archer hence I'll fly,

And teach you your first fluttering in the sky."

Johns. Oh, rare! this is the most natural, refined fancy that ever I heard, I'll swear.

Bayes. Yes, I think, for a dead person, it is a good way enough of making love; for, being divested of her terrestrial part, and all that, she is only capable of these little, pretty, amorous designs that are innocent, and yet passionate. Come, draw your swords.