  When first I saw fair-featured Grace, In dainty tailor-fashioned gown, I fell in love with her sweet face, And pooh-poohed at her escort, Brown. The fellow’s rich, but such a clown! I did not fear he’d rival me— I, Reginald de Courcy Drowne, With wealth and—looks and pedigree. I set the man a red-hot pace; It was the talk of all the town; I knew that I was loved by Grace— I knew it by that yokel’s frown. My ancestors won great renown, While Brown has no ancestral tree. I knew I could the fellow down, With wealth and—looks and pedigree. She’s married now; has rare point lace, And jewels fit to deck a crown. The man who calls her “darling Grace,” Is not the fellow they call Brown. No, I’m the happiest man in town. I knew she’d not say no to me, One rarely sees Dame Fortune frown On wealth and—looks and pedigree. ENVOYYou thought that Grace would marry Brown, As in most ballades that you see, But she did not. For her no clown— But wealth and—looks and pedigree. Charles Battell Loomis. |
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