LA FEMME DE CLAUDE.
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
You'll find, according to Dumas,
One certain cure for melancholy:—
Tue-la!
French law, that damns you in the letter,
In spirit change tout cela;
They always manage matters better
Là-bas.
These are the lines to play the man on;
Take her defenceless, cry "Holà!"
And trotting out the nimble cannon,
Tue-la!
Or take for choice the common cartridge;
Pop goes le p'tit fusil, comme ça!
You bag her neatly like a partridge
Là-bas.
"L'Homme-Femme" may haunt the bosom British;
Là France goes trolling "Ça ira!"
And waives the question with a skittish
"Tue-la!"
No mutual recriminations,
No counterplea, et cetera;
One solves too simply these equations
Là-bas.
So runs the play. We saw you foot it
Featly therein, la belle Sara!
You were all there, or, so to put it,
Toute là.
And now you go, and, if you'll let us,
Reluctantly we say "Ta-ta!"
Come back again, and don't forget us
Là-bas.
The New Motto (by our own Irishman).—England expects every man this day to pay his own Death Duty.
