6
Be patient, dear fellow, you foster your fever;
Pray what‘s the misfortune that bothers you so?
O Doctor; I‘m ruin'd! I'm ruin'd for ever!
My lass has forsaken me, Doctor Monro.
I meant to hare married, and tasted the pleasures,
The sweets, the enjoyments, in wedlock that flows,
But she's ta'en another, and broken my measures,
And fairly confounded ane, Doctor Monro.
I'll bleed and I'll blister you, over and over;
I'll master your malady ere that I go:
But raise up your head from below the bed cover,
And give some attention to Doctor Monro.
If Chirsty had wed you, she would have misled you,
And laugh'd at your love with some handsome young beau.
Her conduct will prove it; but how would you love it?
I soon would have lam'd her, dear Doctor Munro.
Each year brings a pretty young son, or a daughter:
Perhaps you're the father, but how shall you know?
