O "settle down and marry," oft of yore, I swore—but was I sober when I swore? And then there came another girl—and I Turned gaily to the old Love-Game, once more. |
ND, much as I repented things like this, And fondly dreamed of sweet Domestic Bliss, I sometimes wonder what a wife can give, One half so thrilling as a stolen kiss! |
ET, if the hair should vanish from my brow, My girth, in time, to great dimensions grow— If youth's sweet-scented "Buds" should pass me by, Accounting me an antiquated beau— |
HY then, some winged angel, ere too late— Some maiden verging onto twenty-eight— Will gladly take what's left of me, I trow, And, leading me to wedlock, thank her Fate! . . . . . . |
LAS, for those who may to-day prepare The wedding trousseau for the morrow's wear, A voice of warning cried, "There's many a slip Betwixt the Altar and the Solitaire!" |