( 5 )
Thursday fell sick; poor foul, 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 stept 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
Now Highland Donald thump’d his wife,
he swore she was not civil,
And to get quit, he’d part with life,
and send her to the Devil.
