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 For I fear if with you I a bargain should strike, I might have a reception more warm than I like, Since 'tis very well known to us poor little souls, You love to be "calling us over the coals;" Though my heart's in a flame, yet I cannot design My whole body's consumption for such, Valentine.

What eyes, mouth, and nose! who d'ye think, would incline To choose such an object for—Sweet Valentine. From such a grim figure, I'm sure, any day, I can't wonder Cupid is riding away. E'en the donkey he rides appears frightened to see An ugly old fellow, so much uglier than he. To send me a heart would be labour in vain, For soon you would have it, old sir, back again.