(6)
Danc’d, drew a landſcape, ſkim’d a play,
in the paper read that widow Flackit
To Gretna-Green had run away,
the forward minx! with Captain Clackit.
Thurſday fell ſick; poor ſoul, ſhe’ll die;
five doctors came with length’ned faces;
Each felt my pulſe; ah, me! cry’d I,
are theſe my promis’d loves and graces!
Friday grew worſe; cry’d Ma, in pain,
our day was fair, heav’n do not black it;
Where’s your complaint, love? In my brain,
what ſhall I give you? Captain Clackit.
Early next morn a noſtrum came
worth all their cordials, balms, and ſpices,
A letter; I had been to blame;
the Captain’s truth brought on a criſis:
Sunday, for fear of more delays
of a few clothes I made a packet,
And Monday morn ſlept in a chaiſe,
and ran away with Captain Clackit.
The Love and rage of Highland Donald.
Highland Donald, ſwore a wife
was not ſo great an evil,
And any but a husband’s life,
was ſure a Highland devil.
Then Highland Donald tun’d his pipe,
he had been ſome months married;
Severely now he feels a whip
for Horns our Donald carried.
