A pipe, a book,

A cosy nook,

A fire,—at least its embers;

A dog, a glass;—

'T is thus we pass

Such hours as one remembers.

Who'd wish to wed?

Poor Cupid's dead

These thousand years, I wager.

The modern maid

Is but a jade,

Not worth the time to cage her.

In silken gown

To "take" the town

Her first and last ambition.

What good is she

To you or me

Who have but a "position"?

So let us drink

To her,—but think

Of him who has to keep her;

And sans a wife

Let's spend our life

In bachelordom,—it's cheaper.