"Little Jack Jingle Used to live single. But when he got tired Of that kind of life, He left off being single, And lived with his wife." Your period's pointed, most excellent Moth- er! Pray what did he do when he tired of the other? For a man so deplorably prone to ennui But a queer sort of husband is likely to be. The fatigue might recur,—and, in case it should be so, Why not take a wife on a limited lease, O? Grant the privilege, pray, to his idiosyn- crazy,— Some natures won't bear to be too closely pinned, you see,— And, at worst, the poor Benedict might advertise, When weary, at length, of the light of his eyes,— Or failing to find her, it may be, in salt,— "Disposed of, indeed, for no manner of fault," (To borrow a figure of speech from the mart,) "But because the late owner has taken a start!" I believe once before you have cautiously said Something quite as concise on this delicate head, When distantly hinting at "needles and pins," And that "when a man marries, his trouble begins"; But I don't recollect that you ever pretend To prophesy anything as to the end. Unless we may learn it of Peter,—the bumpkin, Renowned for naught else but his eating of pumpkin; Whose wife—I don't see how he happened to get her— Had a taste, very likely, for things that were better: Since, fearing to lose her, at last it be- fell He bethought him of shutting her up in a shell; By which brilliant contrivance she kept very well! What he did with her next, the old rhyme does n't say, But she seems to be somehow got out of the way, For the ill-fated Peter was wedded once more, To find his bewilderment worse than be- fore; "If the first for her spouse had but small predilection, Now 't was his turn, alas! to fall short in affection. And how do you think that he conquered the evil? Why, simply by lifting himself to her level; By leaving his pumpkins, and learning to spell, He came, saith the story, to love her right well; And the mythical memoir its moral con- trives For the lasting instruction of husband* and wives.
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