Whether ’twas the sauce at dinner, or that glass of ginger-beer,
Or these strong cheroots, I know not, but I feel a little queer.
Let me go. Nay, Chuckster, blow me, ’pon my soul, this is too bad!
When you want me, ask the waiter; he knows where I’m to be had.
Whew! This is a great relief now! Let me but undo my stock;
Resting here beneath the porch, my nerves will steady like a rock.
In my ears I hear the singing of a lot of favourite tunes—
Bless my heart, how very odd! Why, surely there’s a brace of moons!
See! the stars! how bright they twinkle, winking with a frosty glare,
Like my faithless cousin Amy when she drove me to despair.
Oh, my cousin, spider-hearted! Oh, my Amy! No, confound it!
I must wear the mournful willow,—all around my heart I’ve bound it. [117]
Falser than the bank of fancy, frailer than a shilling glove,
Puppet to a father’s anger, minion to a nabob’s love!
Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could you ever
Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half a liver?
Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by day,
Changing from the best of china to the commonest of clay.
As the husband is, the wife is,—he is stomach-plagued and old;
And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of his gold.