Soft whispered nothings—tales of love, transpire—
All this for sixpence! Can such misers be!
Who'd grudge that sum, sweet Rosherville, to thee?
Yes, Gravesend! to thy shrimps my memory clings,
And to that loved one—would I could forget her!—
Who tied in double knots my heart's young strings;
Dating from Parrock Street each scented letter,
But flew from me, one day, on fancy's wings,
All for another gent as she loved better;
And left me lonely, in a dark dilemma,