FT, to some patient married man I turn, The secret of his dumb content to learn, But lip-to-ear, he mutters, "Fool, beware! This is the path, whence there is no return!" |
BUT, LIP-TO-EAR, HE MUTTERS, "FOOL, BEWARE!"
H, threats of Hell, and hopes of Paradise! One thing is certain—when a Husband dies, No wife shall greet him there with "Where's" or "Why's" Nor mock with laughter his most subtle lies! |
O matter whether up or down he goes, He neither cares nor questions, I suppose; Since Death can hold no bitterness for him, Because—because—Oh well, he knows, HE KNOWS! |
OULD you the spangle of existence spend In Matrimony? Slow about, my Friend! A maiden's hair is more oft false than true, And on the chemist may her blush depend. |