, who my controller is chief,
And dearly loves a little mischief,
Whene'er I talk of packing up,
To all my measures puts a stop:
And tho' I plunge from bad to worse,
Grown duller than her own dull horse;
Yet out of Complaisance exceeding,
Or pure Perverseness, call'd
Will never let me have my way
In any thing I do, or say.