THE RICH OLD BUFFER.
A MAIDEN LYRIC.
Urge it no more! I must not wed
One who is poor, so hold your prattle;
My lips on love have ne’er been fed,
With poverty I cannot battle.
My choice is made—I know I’m right—
Who wed for love starvation suffer;
So I will study day and night
To please and win a rich OLD BUFFER.
Romance is very fine, I own;
Reality is vastly better;
I’m twenty—past—romance is flown—
To Cupid I’m no longer debtor.
Wealth, power, and rank—I ask no more—
Let the world frown, with these I’ll rough her—
Give me an equipage and four,
Blood bays, a page, and—rich OLD BUFFER.
An opera-box shall be my court,
Myself the sovereign of the women;
There moustached loungers shall resort,
Whilst Elssler o’er the stage is skimming.
If any rival dare dispute
The palm of ton, my set shall huff her;
I’ll reign supreme, make envy mute,
When once I wed a rich OLD BUFFFER!
“The heart”—“the feelings”—pshaw! for nought
They go, I grant, though quite enchanting
In valentines by school-girls wrought:
Nonsense! by me they are not wanting.
A note! and, as I live, a ring!
“Pity the sad suspense I suffer!”
All’s right. I knew to book I’d bring
Old Brown. I’ve caught—
A RICH OLD BUFFER.