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Now, the third queſtion, to make you merry,
Thou think's I'm the Biſhop of Canterbury;
I am but his ſhepherd-the Biſhop's at home;
O pardon, O pardon, O good King John, etc.
The King he turn'd him about with a ſmile,
Saying, Thou muſt be Biſhop the other while.
O no! ſaid the ſhepherd, it muſt not be ſae,
For I cannot read nor knows A, B, C. etc
O then for thy jeſting with me here,
Three hundred pounds I'll give thee by year,
You may tell the Biſhop, when that you go home,
You've purchas'd his pardon from good King John.etc.
WITH A FROWN SHE CAN KILL.
THE nymph that undoes me is fair and unkind,
No lefs than a wonder by nature deſign'd:
She's the grief of my heart, the joy of my eye,
And the cauſe of a flame that never can die.
Her mouth, from whence wit obligingly flows,
Has the beautiful bluſh, and the ſmell of the roſe;
Love and deſtiny both till attend on her will
She wounds with a look, with a crown ſhe can kill.
The deſperate lover can hope no redreſs,
Where beauty and rigour are both in exceſs:
In Silvia they meet, ſo unhappy am I.
Who ſees her muſt love, and who loves her muſt die.
Glaſgow, Printed by J. & M. Robertſon,
Saltmarket, 1802.
