The heroine reads, all her colour is fled,
John, the drops! or Belinda is certainly dead!
For her lover, quite wearied, and sick of his life,
Had determin’d to end all this trouble and strife;
You may say that he took a pestiferous vorax,
Or planted a bullet just under his thorax!
But don’t, for your life, let the fame to go loose,
That your hero would tie up his neck in a noose;
That death is too common, beside, ’tis quite wrong,
For pois’ning, or shooting, is now quite the ton: