But though the huffing surly Winds did nose him,
And struting Billows crowded to oppose him,
From's Mistress he no longer wou'd be kept,
But like a drunken Hero headlong leapt
Amidst his Foes, resolving to come at her,
Though Seas on Seas were set, and Hills of Water
On watry hills to intercept his course;
But Death old-fashion'd Lovers can't divorce.
As Reader (if you've any patience) you
Too soon, too soon, alas, alas! shall know.
But Gossip first I know you wou'd be prying
Into the manner of our Lovers dying:
Leander wou'd not give his Head for th' washing,
You may be sure, nor was afraid of dashing;
He cuff'd the Waves aside, and through did break
His Way, in spight of Northern Blubber-Cheek;
Mean while ('tis said) they made e'ne nothing of him,
And while he puff'd, and sputtred, did but scoffe him.
And as in Blanket you wou'd toss a Whelp,
Tost him, while he no more himself cou'd help.
And though he sprawl'd, and kept on going still,
It was, as one may say, e'ne but up hill.
So to his Oars of Flesh such chearing Words,
Was fain to use as Errants to their Swords;
And told them, if they wou'd row stoutly on,
They shou'd embrace his naked Miss anon.
But finding soon that Harangue prov'd but idle,
He turn'd his Stile, the Winds and Waves to wheedle:
And vow'd, if they wou'd please but to reprieve him
From drowning 'till he came back, he'd forgive 'um.
But Fate, whose Slaves they were, cou'd not be chous'd,
For all his Vows, he still was soundly dous'd:
Yet sneering Fate but to augment her sport,
Permitted him almost to touch his Port.
So Tyrant Puss of Mousse does make a Fool,
And let's him get again half into's hole.
But then Leander 's time was come, when Lamp
Went out, or when his left Leg had the Cramp.
For he so much in Love was, you may see,
He quite forgot a String about his Knee.

 Mean while, poor Hero , in her Bed had tost
As much as he at Sea had, or almost.
For she had dream'd of Flowers all the Night,
Shrewd Sign, that some body is to turn Spright.
Now weary of her Dreams, awak'd and rose;
But some say she awak'd, ta'ne by the Nose
With the rude Haut-Ghost of deceased Lamp,
Which Omen seiz'd her Heart with pannick Damp;
Still worse than all ensues: when she did hear
The Winds and Sea so loud, she grew past fear,
And by her croaking Bowels then cou'd tell
(Were he at Sea) all with him was not well:
So grown impatient, to the Window flew,
And from her Eye-lids poking off the Glew,
Into the boiling Water fell a staring,
Where she perceiv'd her dear Duck—dead as Herring!
The Day but just had shewn her scarlet Snout,
So she had time for comfortable Doubt,
And took her poor Leander for a Whale:
But prying to find out the Proof of's Tail,
She out of Window thrust her self so far,
That Tiptoes slipt, and e're she was awar
(Tho' some dispute it still) she tipt clean over
Into the Brine upon her pickled Lover.

 Now, hasty Lover, do not damn the River,
Which though a while true Lovers it did sever,
Yet did unite 'um afterward for ever.
And let none take my tristful Song to Heart,
Or for drown'd Lovers be concern'd a Fart;
For they but div'd directly to Elizium ,
Where such Folkes pass their time as you cou'd wish 'um.