I do not wish to give offence,
But interest is common sense,
And he who does not look to that,
Mr. Quæ Genus, is a Flat."
The blunt, rough Coachman, said no more:
When Molly's fine black eyes ran o'er: |
The Cook look'd grave, and Betty sigh'd,
The Kitchen-maid sat still and cried,
While Thomas not a word replied.— | } |
Quæ Genus, not to be remiss,
Gave to each maid a friendly kiss,
And when he whisper'd his adieu
To charming Molly, he gave two:
Perhaps, if they were counted o'er,
Her sweet lips might acknowledge more:
Then told her softly not to fear,
And kindly whisper'd in her ear,
"What e'er my lot, I will be true
To fond affection and to you." |
Our gloomy Hero now departed,
And left the mansion heavy-hearted,
Where in such comfort he had liv'd,
Nor, till dismiss'd it, ever griev'd,
And, with a tardy step, retir'd