Soon give thee of keels and their huddocks to know;
In the Voyage to Newburn who’ll succour and tend thee;
Shall the task be another’s? O no, my love, no.
Then wear not my Delia! an aspect so chilling,
Nor doubt that with ardour heroic I glow;
But love’s dear delights shall I barter for drilling?
That smile methinks answers,—“O no, my love, no.”