AFTER BROWNING
NOT that I care for ceremonies—no;
But still there are occasions, as you see
(Observe the costumes—gallantly they show
To my poor judgment!) which, twixt you and me,
Not to come forth, one's few remaining hairs,
Or wig,—it matters little,—bravely brushed
And oiled, dress-coated, sprucely-clad, the tears
And tweaks and wrenches, people overflushed
With—well, not wine—oh, no, we'll rather say
Anticipation, the delight of seeing
No matter what! inflict upon you (pray
Remove your elbow, friend!) in spite of being
Not quite the man one used to be, and not
So young as once one was, would argue one
Churlish, indifferent, hipped, rheumatic, what
You please to say.
So, not to spoil the fun—
Comprenez-vous?—observe that lady there,
In native worth! Aha! you see the jest?
Not bad, I think. My own, too! Woman's fair.
Or not—the odds so long as she is dressed?
They're coming! Soh! Ha, Bennett's Barcarole—
A poor thing, but mine own! That minor third
Is not so bad now! Mum, sirs! (Bless my soul,
I wonder what her veil cost!) Mum's the word!
Anonymous.