Change to a smile her frown—
Oh! scorch’d is the heart that’s frying
For the lunch of Kitty Brown.
I’ve felt repletion’s horrid pain,
And suffered hunger dread,
But the cursed cat has run away,
With my bonny baked sheep’s head;
And as I rove, some wag may say,
That fool without a crown.
His head lost, while he warmed his heart,