The poet now rhymes delightfully of the time—the perilous time—when a choice has to be made of a partner in life for the heiress. The dream was realized so far as regards the number of her suitors, for—
"to tell the rigid truth,
Her favour was sought by Age and Youth,
For the prey will find a prowler!
She was followed, flattered, courted, address'd,
Woo'd and coo'd and wheedl'd, and press'd
By suitors from North, South, East, and West,
Like that Heiress in song, 'Tibbie Fowler.'"
The embarras de choix resulted, as often happens, in the selection of the worst of the group:
"A foreign Count—who came incog.
Not under a cloud, but under a fog,
In a Calais packet's fore-cabin,
To charm some lady British-born,
With his eyes as black as the fruit of the thorn,
And his hooky nose, and his beard half shorn,
Like a half-converted Rabbin.
* * * * *
"The Foreign Count."
He could
"act the tender, and do the cruel;
For amongst his other killing parts,
He had broken a brace of female hearts,
And murdered three men in a duel.