V.
Oh! you my Bath Bobadils hunting for acres,
And shaking your elbows, cry seven’s the main,
For the bodies of belles you’re the live undertakers,
But you take them, it’s true, for no prospect of gain.
It’s not for a gold-mine you Bobadils marry,
’Tis all for pure love, beauty, temper, and grace!
’Tis for kindness and tenderness said Captain Larry,
Who kill’d his last wife by too tight an embrace.
VI.