My head is like a title-deed,
Or abstract of the same:
Wherein, my Bessy, thou may'st read
Thine own long-cherish'd name.
Against thee I my suit have brought,
I am thy plaintiff lover,
And for the heart that thou hast caught,
An action lies—of trover.
Alas, upon me every day
The heaviest costs you levy:
Oh, give me back my heart—but nay!
I feel I can't replevy.
I'll love thee with my latest breath,
Alas, I can not YOU shun,
Till the hard hand of SHERIFF death
Takes me in execution.
Say, BESSY dearest, if you will
Accept me as a lover?
Must true affection file a bill
The secret to discover?
Is it my income's small amount
That leads to hesitation?
Refer the question of account
To CUPID'S arbitration.
MONODY ON THE DEATH OF AN ONLY CLIENT. PUNCH.
Oh! take away my wig and gown,
Their sight is mockery now to me.
I pace my chambers up and down,
Reiterating "Where is HE?"
Alas! wild echo, with a moan,
Murmurs above my feeble head:
In the wide world I am alone;
Ha! ha! my only client's—dead!
In vain the robing-room I seek;
The very waiters scarcely bow,
Their looks contemptuously speak,
"He's lost his only client now."