With the hair of your madgery match?
Perhaps as it is the kick and go,
You’ve mounted, ma’am, a merkin below!
But the merkin you’ll find, from water and wind,
Strong torrents before, and stiff breezes behind,
Will not stick at all; but with glue to the cawl,
’Twill stick like a snug swallow’s nest to the wall!
Ah, happy, happy, happy hour,
When I get your wig in my pow’r;
Then we’ll count the coming joys,