NON-PROPOSALS, OR DOUBTS RESOLVED.
I wonder when 'twill be our turn
A wedding here to keep!
Sure Thomson's "flame" might quicker burn,
His "love" seems gone to sleep!
I wonder why he hums and haws
With 'kerchief at his nose:
And then makes one expecting pause,——
Yet still he don't propose.
I wonder whether Bell or Bess,
It is he most admires,
Even Mistress Match'em cannot guess—
It really patience tires.
He hung, last night, o'er Bella's chair,
And things seem'd at a close—
To-day 'twas Bess was all his care,
But yet he don't propose.
He's gone to concert, play, and ball,
So often with them now,
That it must seem to one and all
As binding as a vow.
He certainly does mean to take
One of the girls, and close
The life he leads—the flirting rake—
But yet he don't propose.
I often wonder what he thinks
We ask him here to do—
Coolly he Cockburn's claret drinks,
And wins from me at Loo.
For twenty months he's dangled on,
The foremost of their beaux,
While half-a-dozen else have gone,—
And still he don't propose.
No matter—'tis a comfort, though,
To know he will take one,
And even tho' Bess and Bella go,
He still may fix on Fan.
I'll have him in the family,
That's sure—But, why, you look—
"Oh, madam, Mr. Thomson's just
Got married to his cook——"
Tait's Edinburgh Magazine.