Which Miss Stone will perform on her Lute!”
Oh! beware, young men, of a musical wife,
For Eliza’s fine voice is the plague of my life!
Last week, in the Senate, on Tuesday’s debate,
We never divided till three,
When, tir’d and exhausted, I hurried home late,
How I long’d for a cup of green tea:
But, alas, neither tea nor repose could I get,
For Keyser, and Lange, were there,
And my wife was performing a fav’rite quartette,