Men, dying, make their wills, but wives
Escape a task so sad;
Why should they make what all their lives
The gentle dames have had?
John Godfrey Saxe [1816-1887]
PLAYS
Alas, how soon the hours are over
Counted us out to play the lover!
And how much narrower is the stage
Allotted us to play the sage!
But when we play the fool, how wide
The theatre expands! beside,
How long the audience sits before us!
How many prompters! what a chorus!
Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864]
THE REMEDY WORSE THAN THE DISEASE
I sent for Ratcliffe; was so ill,
That other doctors gave me over:
He felt my pulse, prescribed his pill,
And I was likely to recover.