And he said, "Oh, have you anything in Consols or Per Cents.?
For my property's in Ireland, and I cannot get the rents?"
Oh, my Oscar! Impecunious! Oh, intense!—if nothing worse—
Oh, those too-too precious poems! Oh, that too-too empty purse!
Then I said, "I've an allowance from an old maternal aunt,
Just enough for dress; but as to victuals—no, I really can't!"
And he turned, his face was frightful, pale with anger for poor me;
Was it fancy that he muttered something like a big, big D—?
* * * * *
As my husband is, his wife is, rich, the envy of the town;