Notes |
Text: You pert Counter-jumper, with sick'ning grimace / You smile, smirk, and simper your meaningless face / You think yourself
killing-- perhaps it is true, man, / For you'd be the death of a sensible woman. / Oh, yes! you're a Cupid, or think yourself
so, / The counter your fortress, the yardstick your bow; / But I'd have you know, my impertinent spark, / You have shot all
your arrows quite wide of the mark.
|