SAL'S TOWSER AND MY TROUSER
A RUSTIC IDYL BY A RUSTIC IDLER
But yestere'en I loved thee whole,
Oh, fashionable and baggy trouser!
And now I loathe and hate the hole
In thee, I do, I trow, sir.
I sallied out to see my Sal,
Across yon round hill's brow, sir;
I didn't know she, charming gal,
Had a dog,—a trouser-browser.
I'd sauntered in quite trim and spruce,
When on a sudden, oh, my trouser,
I felt thee seized where thou'rt most loose,—
I tarried there with Towser.
I on the fence, he down below,
And thou the copula, my trouser,
I thought he never would let go,—
This gentle Towser.
They say that fashion cuts thee loose,
But not so fashioned is Sal's Towser;
Thou gavest away at last, no use
To tarry, tearèd trouser.
Miss Sarah, she is wondrous sweet,
And I'd have once loved to espouse her,
But my calling trouser has no seat,—
I left it there with Towser.
So all unseated is my suit;
I must eschew Miss Sarah now, sir;
He's chewed my trouser; 'twouldn't suit
Me to meet Towser.
Anonymous.