THE CHAPERON’S SONG
’Tis not because I couldn’t have,
For laws! I’ve had my chances;
Nor can I say I wouldn’t have,
If some had made advances.
But that’s the way it’s always been
In my experiences;
I never caught among the men
The proper person’s glances.
And goodness knows, I’ve often said,
Nor would I now deny it,
’Tis better far for one to wed
Or do her best to try it;
But if she fails to find her mate,
Or finding, fails to bind him,
It may turn out a better fate
To never have to mind him.
For now I’m of a certain age,
Or “old,” as you may view it;
And single still, up to this stage
I’ve never seemed to rue it.
Still, ’twasn’t that I wouldn’t have
If some had made advances,
Nor can I say I couldn’t have,
For laws! I’ve had my chances.
It was fine, it was jolly, and no one could tell
How it all came about that the chaperon fell;
It seemed that her hoops, near the end of the dance,
Got caught on the knob of a door by a chance,
And the knob being firm and the hoops being strong
The hoops had to stay where they didn’t belong.
The chaperon tripped and she tumbled, of course,
But was up in a trice, looking not so much worse
While the dancers all laughed but she kept on a-singing
And never looked back where the hoops were still clinging.
It was a mistake and the chaperon knew
That she should not have sung—she apologized, too—
There’s no one can tell what the young people think
When their elders look sidewise on folly to wink—
’Tis a gap in the fences that leads to the clover,
And the dignified ruling of prudence is over.
They cut up—that’s nothing, they carried it on
Till Malindy, ashamed of the things that were done,
Took the bachelor out for a short, quiet walk
And lectured him soundly on orderly talk
And then he behaved—’tis a marvelous thing
What order from chaos a woman can bring;
But Malindy, of course, had a very wise head
And none ever knew of the thing that she said
When she took her short stroll with the bachelor. Well,
There were others to conquer, the wit had a spell,
But she mastered him quickly and put him to rout
By looking askance and pretending to pout.
’Twas a trick of Malindy’s—the girls of Dinwiddie
All knew it, they laughed and they laughed, oh, so giddy.
Tim Dolor, the bashful, could sing very well
When once he was rid of his timorous spell;
They coaxed him and pulled him, and though he was shy,
They would not release him until he would try;
But his voice had the ring of a poor, distressed call,
And the wail of his song was pathetic to all,
For the eyes of Selina had pierced the boy’s heart;
’Twas also her smile that had speeded the dart.
Poor Dolor was love-sick, as ev’ry one knew,
And his sad song was drowned in the tears that it drew.