It alwuss makes ’em smart.
Then say if I shall soot my love,
Oh, say if I shall soot ’er!
Or else—’weep ho!
I’ll drownd my woe
In this ’ere pot of pewter.
II.
But, if fond love ’er ’eart could gain,
I wish she’d tell me ’ow;
For love it is wot gives the pain