XI
And that’s what my fine daughter said:—she meant:
Pray, hold your tongue, and wear a Sunday face.
Her husband, the young linendraper, spent
Much argument thereon:—I’m their disgrace.
Bother the couple!
I feel superior to a chap whose place
Commands him to be neat and supple.
XII
But if I go and say to my old hen:
I’ll mend the gentry’s boots, and keep discreet,
Until they grow too violent,—why, then,
A warmer welcome I might chance to meet:
Warmer and better.
And if she fancies her old cock is beat,
And drops upon her knees—so let her!