I don’t think I could talk to them of love
With all the eloquence the theme deserves,
In the distracting company of one,
Who, if she’s not in point of fact my wife,
Is so uncomfortably like my wife,
That she may be my wife for aught I know;
And more than that, I can’t stand tamely by
And notice with uninterested gaze
A lady, who’s so very like my wife,
Hanging on everybody’s neck but mine.