Don't you go for a stranger, nor wish me dead,
If you don't want to wear the willow."
Lightly he talked when the "spirits" were gone,
For pipe-ashes why should she upbraid him?
But little he'd spy if she'd let him smoke on,
In the bed where Britannia had laid him.
But half of the tyrant's task was done,
When the clock told the hour for retiring;
The minion quailed at the sound of the gun,
Which to signal her triumph was firing.