  Wife.— Though other women's husbands ride Along the road in proud array, My husband, up the rough hill-side, On foot must wend his weary way. The grievous sight with bitter pain My bosom fills, and many a tear Steals down my cheek, and I would fain Do aught to help my husband dear. Come! take the mirror and the veil, My mother's parting gifts to me; In barter they must sure avail To buy an horse to carry thee! Husband.— And I should purchase me an horse, Must not my wife still sadly walk? No, no! though stony is our course, We'll trudge along and sweetly talk. Anon. |
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