  THERE, pay it, James! ’tis cheaply earned; My conscience! how one’s cabman charges! But never mind, so I’m returned Safe to my native street of Clarges. I’ve just an hour for one cigar (What style these Reinas have, and what ash!) One hour to watch the evening star With just one CuraÇoa-and-potash. Ah me! that face beneath the leaves And blossoms of its piquant bonnet! Who would have thought that forty thieves Could you have managed to enchant At Lord’s to-day old lovers simple, Had Robber Time not played gallant, And spared you every youthful dimple! That Robber bold, like courtier Claude, Who danced the gay coranto jesting, By your bright beauty charmed and awed, Has bowed and passed you unmolesting. No feet of many-wintered crows Have traced about your eyes a wrinkle; Your sunny hair has thawed the snows That other heads with silver sprinkle. I wonder if that pair of gloves I won of you you’ll ever pay me! I wonder if our early loves Were wise or foolish, Cousin Amy? I wonder if our childish tiff Now seems to you, like me, a blunder! I wonder if you wonder if I ever wonder if you wonder. I wonder if you’d think it bliss Once more to be the fashion’s leader! I wonder if the trick of this Escapes the unsuspecting reader! And as for him who does or can Delight in it, I wonder whether He knows that almost any man I wonder if—What’s that? A knock? Is that you, James? Eh? What? God bless me! How time has flown! It’s eight o’clock, And here’s my fellow come to dress me. Be quick, or I shall be the guest Whom Lady Mary never pardons; I trust you, James, to do your best To save the soup at Grosvenor Gardens. H. D. Traill. |
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