But smilingly looks at the over-stored bunks
In happy complacence—never worries or spunks;
This model of mine ’s no cross, surly lunks,
But a martyr quite equal to Fox’s.
My ideal man don’t growl for a week,
Should I get a few duds for my travels,
But gives money and time, to sew and to seek
New dresses and wraps, too many to speak,
And seems to enjoy each extravagant freak
That the mystery of toilet unravels.