And the wife clinks tea-things under,
And her cousin, he stirs his cup,
Asks, "Who was the lady, I wonder?"
"'T is a daub John bought at a sale,"
Quoth the wife,—looks black as thunder.
"What a shade beneath her nose!
Snuff-taking, I suppose,"—
Adds the cousin, while John's corns ail.
Or else, there 's no wife in the case,
But the portrait 's queen of the place,