On searching for precedents, much to their dread,
They found that they could n't well cut off her head;

And the 'House of Incurables' raised a 'Report'
She was not a fit person to live in his Court.

How like an OLD CHARLEY
they then made him stand,
In his lanthorn a leech,
the 'Report' in his hand.

'Good folks be so good as not go near that door
'For, though my own wife, she is—I could say more
'But it's all in this Bag, and there'll be a fine pother,
'I shall get rid of her, and I'll then get another!'

Yet he thought, to himself,—
'twas a thought most distressing,—
'If she should discover
I've been M—ch—ss—g,
'There's an end of the whole!
D—rs C—ns, of course,
'If my own hands are dirty,
won't grant a D———ce!'

He tried to look wise, but he only look'd wild;
The women laugh'd out, and the grave even smiled;
The old frown'd upon him—the children made sport,
And his wife held her ridicule at his 'Report'!

MORAL.

Be warn'd, by his fate
Married, single, and all;
Ye elderly Gentlemen,
Pity his fall!