An Extempore

Oh! sye Miss J-NES , how can you think To wed a pastry-cook? For tho' he's got a little chink, He scarce can read a book.

A downright pigmy sure is he, In stature very low. Yet, by the bye, he may please thee When rolling of his dough.

But ah! dear Miss, where is your taste? Tho' do not be too vain; But yet I think a maid so chaste Would shun so poor a swain.

Altho' he's master for himself, And keeps a little shop, Whereby he hopes of getting pelf By selling tarts and slop.

Excuse these lines my lovely fair, For they are meant in jest; Then deign to soothe the author's care, And set his heart at rest.