Each aunt, each cousin, hath her speculation;

Nay, married dames will now and then discover

Such pure disinterestedness of passion,

I've known them court an heiress for their lover.

"Tantoene!" Such the virtues of high station,

Even in the hopeful Isle, whose outlet's "Dover!"

While the poor rich wretch, object of these cares,

Has cause to wish her sire had had male heirs.