So dry these tears and smooth each tress—
Let Betty search the larder;
Then o’er a chop and genial glass,
Though I so late have tarried,
I will recount what came to pass
I’ the days before I married.
Then, every place where fashion hies,
Wealth, health, and youth to squander,
I sought—shot folly as it flies,
’Till I could shoot no longer.