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THE LAY OF THE LOVELORN.
Comrades, you may pass the rosy. With permission of
the chair,
I shall leave you for a little, for I'd like to take the air.
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, con-
found it!
I must wear the mournful willow,—all around my hat
I've bound it.
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.