I was unlucky with my wives,
So are the most of married men;
Undoubtedly they lost their lives,—
Of course, but even so, what then?
I loved them like no other man,
And I can love, you bet I can!
My first was little Emmeline,
More beautiful than day was she;
Her proud, aristocratic mien
Was what at once attracted me.
I naturally did not know
That I should soon dislike her so.
But there it was! And you'll infer
I had not very long to wait
Before my red-hot love for her
Turned to unutterable hate.
So, when this state of things I found,
I had her casually drowned.
My next was Sarah, sweet but shy,
And quite inordinately meek;
Yes, even now I wonder why
I had her hanged within the week;
Perhaps I felt a bit upset,
Or else she bored me. I forget.
Then came Evangeline, my third,
And when I chanced to be away,
She, so I subsequently heard,
Was wont (I deeply grieve to say)
With my small retinue to flirt.
I strangled her. I hope it hurt.
Isabel was, I think, my next,—
(That is, if I remember right),—
And I was really very vexed
To find her hair come off at night;
To falsehood I could not connive,
And so I had her boiled alive.
Then came Sophia, I believe,
Her coiffure was at least her own;
Alas! she fancied to deceive
Her friends, by altering its tone.
She dyed her locks a flaming red!
I suffocated her in bed.
Susannah Maud was number six,
But she did not survive a day;
Poor Sue, she had no parlour tricks,
And hardly anything to say.
A little strychnine in her tea
Finished her off, and I was free.
Yet I did not despair, and soon,
In spite of failures, started off
Upon my seventh honeymoon,
With Jane; but could not stand her cough.
'Twas chronic. Kindness was in vain.
I pushed her underneath the train.
Well, after her, I married Kate,
A most unpleasant woman. Oh!
I caught her at the garden gate,
Kissing a man I didn't know;
And, as that didn't suit me quite,
I blew her up with dynamite.