BEFORE.

How do the Gentlemen do before marriage?—

Oh, then they come flattering,

Soft nonsense chattering,

Praising your pickling,

Playing at tickling,

Love verses writing,

Acrostics inditing.

If your finger aches, fretting,

Fondling, and petting,

"My loving,"—"my doving,"

"Petseying,"—"wetseying."

Now sighing, now dying,

Now dear diamonds buying.

Or yards of Chantilly, like a great big silly,

Cashmere shawls—brandy balls,

Oranges, apples—gloves, Gros de Naples.

Sweet pretty "skuggies"—ugly pet puggies;

Now with an ear-ring themselves endearing,

Or squandering guineas upon Sevignés,

Now fingers squeezing or playfully teasing,

Bringing you bull's eyes, casting you sheep's eyes,

Looking in faces while working braces;

Never once heeding what they are reading,

But soiling one's hose by pressing one's toes;

Or else so zealous, and nice and jealous of all the fellows—

Darting fierce glances if ever one dances with a son of France's;

Or finding great faults, and threatening assaults whenever you "valtz;"

Or fuming and fussing enough for a dozen if you romp with your cousin;

Continually stopping, when out a-shopping, and bank-notes dropping,

Not seeking to win money, calling it "tin" money, and promising pin-money;

Liking picnics at Twickenham, off lovely cold chicken, ham, and champagne to quicken 'em;

Detesting one's walking without John too goes stalking, to prevent the men talking;

Think you still in your teens, wont let you eat "greens," and hate Crinolines;

Or heaping caresses, if you curl your back tresses, or wear low-neck'd dresses;

Or when up the river, almost sure to diskiver that it beats all to shiver the sweet Guadalquiver;

Or seeing death-fetches if the, toothache one catches, making picturesque sketches of the houses of wretches;

Or with loud double knocks bring from Eber's a box, to see "Box and Cox," or pilfer one's locks to mark their new socks;

Or, whilst you are singing a love song so stinging, they vow they'll be swinging, or in Serpentine springing, unless to them clinging you'll go wedding-ringing, and for life mend their linen.

Now the gentlemen sure I've no wish to disparage,

But this is the way they go on before marriage.