Page:Slighted father, or, the unnatural son justly reclaim'd.pdf/2



Wealthy man of late we hear,

Live'd in the midst of Devonshire,

Whole son did court a beauty bright,

And in her plac'd his whole delight.

His proffer'd service was in vain,

With haughty pride and high disdain,

She often made him this reply,

I will not have you, No, not I.

Except your fortune does appear,

To be two hundred pounds a year;

At this the young man was dismay'd,

As having nothing but his trade.

Until his rich old Father dy'd,

Home he return'd, and figling cry'd,

Why did my eyes bétray my heart?

Why must I feel the killing smart?

He took his bed, and there he lay,

With scorching fever night and day,

His Father did request to know,

What was the cause of all his woe?

Dear loving Father, he reply'd,

A Lady should have been my brids,

Who flights nie for my low estate,

Which makes me most unfortunate.