( 3 )
I have heard and have read in a great many books,
Half the Frenchmen are Taylors, & t'other half Cooks;
We've fine trimmings in ſtore for the Knights of the Cloth,
And the Cooks that come here, will but ſpoil their own broths.
It is ſaid that the French are a numerous race,
And perhaps it is true, for Ill weeds grow apace:
But come when they will, and as many as dare,
I ſuſpect they'll arrive the day after the fair.
To invade is more ſafely, theſe warriors boaſt,
They'll wait till a ſtorm drive our fleet from their coaſt:
That 'twill be an ill wind will be ſoon underſtood,
For a wind that blows Frenchmen——blows nobody good.
They'd treat Britain worſe than they're treated Mynheer,
But they'll find they have a wrong Sow by the Ear,
Let them come then in ſwarms by the Corſican led,
And I warrant we'll bit the right nuil on the head.
A TOUCH of the TERRIFIC:
IT is ſaid that a Cottager once paſt his life
In the ſhade of a foreſt profound;
And content might have been, had me not had a Wife
Who kept up the clamours of conjugal ſtrife,
Till death laid her low in the ground.
'Twas midnight! tho' loudly the tempeſt did rave,
Neither rain, wind, nor lightning he fear'd;
Every ſtorm from without he could eaſily brave,
Since his Wife as he thought, was at peace in her grave,
When, lo! at his ſide ſhe appear'd!
Her green ſaucer eyes, with terrific grimace,
She on him moſt tremendouſly glanc'd;
She hugg'd him cloſe round in a thrilling embrace,
While her cold livid lips flabber'd over his face:
She then round him maliciouſy danc'd.
Then ſilence thus broke—"How are you, my dear
"Why are you thus fill'd with a fright?
"As I thought you'd be dull in this ev'ning, ſo dress,
"A viſit I've paid, and, your ſpirits to cheer,
"Beſide you will ſit all the night."
