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Addressed to Jonathan Wingle, Esq.
In summer time we roam o'er dingle, / But winter draws us round the ingle, / Why do you remain thus single, / When love would make two hearts tingle, / Pray, tell me why my dearest wingle, / With the fair you do not mingle, / Better with love 'neath cot of shingle, / Than all your yellow gold to jingle.
For married life you would enjoy, / And soon a little girl and boy, / They would your leisure hours employ, / At Christmas you could buy each toy, / And fill their little hearts with joy, / For their amusements never cloy, / Business cares do men annoy, / Child's happiness knows no alloy.