Dreary and long was the thing you played,
And we listened in suffering sorrow;
And I thought to myself that, if any one stayed,
You'd have finished, no doubt, by the morrow.
Lightly they'll talk of the piece when it's done,
And wonder whoe'er could have made it;
But nothing she'll reck if they let her strum on
At the piece till she's thoroughly played it.
When you'd made but some fifty mistakes, or more,
And no more such torture requiring,