Without these luxuries, a wife
They scornfully decline.
For _Benedick's_ life of manly strife
The fops are far too fine."
"The Season's come," the Tater said,
"To write of many things:
Of frocks--and socks--and needle-work--
And babes--and bonnet-strings;
But all the lot talk utter rot.
Let the fools have their flings!
"Their jibes at girls, their games, their curls,
Their wastefulness, their waist,
Their yearnings to hook Dukes and Earls,
Their matrimonial haste,
Are the crude chat of cubs and churls,
And in the vilest taste.
"But when they prate of you and me,
As the two gifts _they_ want,
Say Classic lore and Cookery
Are things for which _they_ pant;
Believe me, my dear Heptarchy,
They plumb profoundest Cant!"
* * * * *
SEA-SIDE ILLS.
(_BY OUR MAN OVER-BORED._)
SEA-SIDYLL--THE PIER BAND.
[Illustration]
'Tis the Band of the Corporation--
And it plays on that body's pier;
And one knows by the way
That the instruments play,
That the talent is not too dear.
And the trombone is not too clear;
When it has to play quick
It is moistful and thick,
For the trombone is fond of beer--
It is nurtured on pots of beer.
'Tis the Band of the Corporation--
And the cornet is fat just here;
And he's short, and bull-necked.
When you come to reflect
How he wastes all his wind, 'tis queer
That the man should be stout just here!
But the noise of the throat
In the solos denote
That the cornet is fond of beer--
It's been brought up on pots of beer.
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