Think not that I do
Love a ninny like you—
No, believe me my dear Valentine,
I only intended to make you a jest,
And frankly avow my design.
Why, how now, pray, what's here to do?
You're in a pet, my dashing beau!
Your stays will hurt you I'm afraid,
They are so very tightly made:
You call me fickle,—I deny
The silly charge, and thns reply:—
Encouragement I never gave you,
Or ever meant, poor thing! to have you:
Give me a man who has some spirit:
Possessed of wit, and worth, and merit.
The world can spare you, silly elf,
So pray make haste, and hang yourself;
The gaping mob will flock to see
A gaby dangling on a tree;
'Twould be a very curious sight,
And would, I own, give me delight.
Of all the dandies in this town,
That e'er I set an eye on,
In each degree from high to low,
You are the dandy lion.
Your hair is like a lion's mane,
When stiffened out by passion;
Your look as furious—your dress
Most furiously in fashion.
Yet spite of all your furious looks,
It is a whim of mine,
A dandy lion to select,
To be my Valentine.
"A Valentine," I hear you say:
"A Valentine, I vow,"
Oh, dear, I'm half inclined to laugh,
But let me read it now.
