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July.
You did!—'Twas love from the grave indeed!
From bloodless cheeks, and brainless head!—
O! I wish you much joy!—I hear't spoke,
Of young fiscals you'll soon have a flock,
That, the night before last, Mistress Grue
Brought you two boys with little ado!
Mr Grue.
Where the duce picked you up that cursed lie?
For neither a boy, nor girl, have I!—
July.
Mayhap! o' the Snipe 't has been been the wife.
Mr Grue.
The Snipe! He bring a creature to life!
With thighs like the legs of a sparrow,
Smoked hams wanting blood, and bones marrow.
Marry—come—up! with his withered shins,
A pretty one indeed to get twins!
You're hard pushed sure, when, down the water,
You seek him, to father such chatter!
You'd best give them to your friend up stairs;
All his weans, 'tis said, are sent in pairs.—
Did you observe the shaughland legged wight,
With his poker, in the yard alight?
July.
