With me to aid them, none need vainly sue.
Nay, do not praise me, love, but nearer come,
That I may whisper, I’m a bailiff’s bum.
Why start thus from me? am I then a thing
To be despised and cast aside by thee?
Oh! while to every one I fondly cling
And follow all, will no one follow me?
Oh! if it comes to this, dear girl, no more
Shalt thou have cause upon my suit to frown;
I’ll serve no writs again; from me secure,