A SONG WITH VARIATIONS.
[Scene.—Wife at the piano; brute of a husband, who has no more soul for music than his boot, in an adjoining apartment, making his toilet.]
Oh! do not chide me if I weep!—
Come, wife, and sew this button on.
Such pain as mine can never sleep!—
Zounds! as I live, another’s gone!
For unrequited love brings grief,—
A needle, wife, and bring your scissors.
And Pity’s voice gives no relief—
The child! good Lord! he’s at my razors!
No balm to case the troubled heart,—
Who starched this bosom? I declare
That writhes from hate’s envenomed dart!—
It’s enough to make a parson swear!
When faith in man is given up—
How plaguey shiftless are some women!
Then sorrow fills her bitter cup—
I’ll have to get my other linen.
And to its lees the white lips quaff—
Smith says he’s coming in to-night,
While Malice yields her mocking laugh!—
With Mrs. S., and Jones and Wright.
Oh! could I stifle in my breast—
And Jones will bring some prime old sherry.
This aching heart, and give it rest,—
We’ll want some eggs for Tom-and-Jerry
Could Lethe’s waters o’er me roll,—
These stockings would look better mended!
And bring oblivion to my soul,—
When-will-you-have-that-ditty-ended?
Then haply I, in other skies,—
We’d better have the oysters fried.
Might find the love that earth denies!
There! now at last my dickey’s tied!