NO. 2.—MAUD.
Nay, I cannot come into the garden just new,
Tho' it vexes me much to refuse:
But I must have the next set of waltzes, I vow,
With Lieutenant de Boots of the Blues.
I am sure you 'll be heartily pleas'd when you hear
That our ball has been quite a success.
As for me—I've been looking a monster, my dear,
In that old-fashion'd guy of a dress.
You had better at once hurry home, dear, to bed;
It is getting so dreadfully late,
You may catch the bronchitis or cold in the head
If you linger so long at our gate.
Don't be obstinate, Alfy; come, take my advice—
For I know you're in want of repose.
Take a basin of gruel (you 'll find it so nice)
And remember to tallow your nose.
No, I tell you I can't and I shan't get away,
For De Boots has implor'd me to sing.
As to you—if you like it, of course you can stay;
You were always an obstinate thing.
If you feel it a pleasure to talk to the flow'rs
About'"babble and revel and wine,"
When you might have been snoring for two or three hours.
Why, it's not the least business of mine.