Don’t you think that cut direct, all his loving must smother.
Ah! thou hast been the cause of this anguish my mamma.
From The London Singer’s Magazine.
The Duel.—No. 1.
We met,—’twas on the ground—
And I thought he would fight me;
He came his looks were bold,
And his pistols did fright me.
He frown’d, and he whispered low