So I went to the Club in despair,
Oh! beware, young men, of a musical wife,
For Eliza’s fine voice is the plague of my life!
An office was vacant—the postmaster gave,
The place to my brother through me,
I was out—so the messenger carried his note
To Eliza—whilst singing a glee.
But, surrounded, alas! by her musical choir
My wife could not think of my brother;