You've made an early choice, and wise one;
The best I know within th' horizon.
My lady  is rich and handsome:
May she be worth you a king's ransom!
But I must tell you, (you'll excuse
My friendly, tho' plain dealing Muse)
In her own hands is all her dower;
There's not a groat within your power;
And yet you're whoring with
With them you breakfast, sup and dine,
With them you spend your days and nights —
Is't fitting she shou'd bear such slights?
Beggarly, ballad-singing carrions,
Can they advance you to the barons?
You've made me too an old Tom Dingle,
And I, forsooth, must try to jingle.