I know not how it chances, When my passion ever dares, But the warmer my advances, Then the cooler are your airs. I am, I don’t conceal it, But I am a little hurt; You’re a Fan, and I must feel it, Fit for nothing but a _Flirt_! I dreamt thy smiles of beauty On myself alone did fall; But alas! “Cosi Fan Tutti!” It is thus, Fan, thus with all! You have taken quite a mob in Of new military flames;-- They would make a fine Round Robin If I gave you all their names! TO MR. MALTHUS. My dear, do pull the bell, And pull it well, And send those noisy children all up stairs, Now playing here like bears-- You George, and William, go into the grounds, Charles, James, and Bob are there,--and take your string, Drive horses, or fly kites, or anything, You’re quite enough to play at hare and hounds,-- You little May, and Caroline, and Poll, Take each your doll, And go, my dears, into the two-back pair, Your sister Margaret’s there-- Harriet and Grace, thank God, are both at school, At far off Ponty Pool-- I want to read, but really can’t get on-- Let the four twins, Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, Go--to their nursery--go--I never can Enjoy my Malthus among such a clan! Oh Mr. Malthus, I agree In everything I read with thee! The world’s too full, there is no doubt, And wants a deal of thinning out,-- It’s plain--as plain as Harrow Steeple-- And I agree with some thus far, Who say the Queen’s too popular, That is,--she has too many people.