And accurst be the hour when I foolishly trusted
The barometer's index, which now points to "Rain."
Well, I'll trudge it on foot with umbrella and "bowler,"—
My STELLA thinks more of a man than his dress.
I can buy her some bonbons or gloves to console her.
Though I'm rigged like a navvy, she'll love me no less.
Let the showers pour down, I am dressed to defy them—
Bad luck to the rain, why, it's passing away!
The streets are quite gay with the sunshine to dry them.
Well, there, I give up, and retire for the day!