Oh gentle Hassan, prithee say,
Why this most tedious sad delay?
Perhaps thou’rt mov’d by Zara’s tears,
Her fond endearments, tender fears!
But tell the apprehensive maid,
Of shadows not to be afraid,
Tell her, that we’ve no deserts dreary
But turnpike roads, & inns, to cheer ye,
That all our lions are in pens,
Like lambs, or fat’ning cocks & hens;
But if she thinks her Hassan’s heart
May get a flaw, or lose a part,
That European eyes, and beauty,
May turn her lover from his duty;
Then might I as a friend advise
To guard so dear, so rich a prize;
I’d buy & in port-manteau pack it;
A very handsome, eye-proof jacket.