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Martin: A Bon Gaultier Ballad
Falser than the bank of fancy, frailer than a shilling
glove,
Puppet to a father's anger, minion to a nabob's love!
Is it well to wish thee happy? Having known me, could
you ever
Stoop to marry half a heart, and little more than half
a liver?
Happy! Damme! Thou shalt lower to his level day by
day,
Changing from the best of china to the commonest of
clay.
As the husband is, the wife is,— he is stornach-plagued
and old;
And his curry soups will make thy cheek the colour of
his gold.
When his feeble love is sated, he will hold thee surely
then
Something lower than his hookah,—something less than
his cayenne.
What is this? His eyes are pinky. Was't the claret?
Oh, no, no, —
Bless your soul! it was the salmon,—salmon always
makes him so.
Take him to thy dainty chamber—soothe him with thy
lightest fancies;
He will understand thee, won't he?- -pay thee with a
lover's glances ?
Louder than the loudest trumpet, harsh as harshest
ophicleide,
Nasal respirations answer the endearments of his bride.
K 145 c.v.