You—only you—can tell me, an’ you will,
To whom I’m destined shortly to be mated,
Will she run up a heavy modiste’s bill?
If so, I want to hear her income stated
(This is a point which interests me greatly).
To quote the bard, “Oh! have I seen her lately?”
Say, must I wait till husband number one
Is comfortably stowed away at Woking?
How is her hair most usually done?
And tell me, please, will she object to smoking?
The colour of her eyes, too, you may mention:
Come, Sibyl, prophesy—I’m all attention.
THE FOLLY OF BROWN
By a General Agent
I knew a boor—a clownish card
(His only friends were pigs and cows and
The poultry of a small farmyard),
Who came into two hundred thousand.
Good fortune worked no change in Brown,
Though she’s a mighty social chymist;
He was a clown—and by a clown
I do not mean a pantomimist.
It left him quiet, calm, and cool,
Though hardly knowing what a crown was—
You can’t imagine what a fool
Poor rich uneducated Brown was!
He scouted all who wished to come
And give him monetary schooling;
And I propose to give you some
Idea of his insensate fooling.
I formed a company or two—
(Of course I don’t know what the rest meant,
I formed them solely with a view
To help him to a sound investment).
Their objects were—their only cares—
To justify their Boards in showing
A handsome dividend on shares
And keep their good promoter going.
But no—the lout sticks to his brass,
Though shares at par I freely proffer:
Yet—will it be believed?—the ass
Declines, with thanks, my well-meant offer!