University of Virginia Library

FLIRTS IN HADES.

Ye maids, that practise wicked arts,
And eke young widows with light hearts;
Gay Guardsmen, and pet parsons dear,
And all such heartbreakers, see here!
I charge you all, and every one,
To waste no love ye may have won,
For fear of this grey limbo, where
All you fine flirts that ever were
Of either sex, shall bud and blow
As grafts on rooted stems, and grow,
For many a round of days and years,
Self-watered with your own salt tears;
And wipe your eyes on your own leaves,
For lack of pocket-handkerchieves!
And wet your lips at your own cost,
To whistle for the loves you lost;
That these may cast their eyes, and see
Fit cause to kiss, and set you free;
For if by dint of tears, or trace
Of some old unforgotten grace,
You chance to charm a stray kiss out
Of lips you once were fain to flout,
Then may you pluck yourselves, and use
Your leaves for pinions, if you choose,
To soar upon, and seek for peace;
Thus, only thus, the spell shall cease.
And trust me, you shall not, I trow,
Be beautiful and bright, as now;
Your features shall be modelled then
By Mr. Punch's smart young men!
And here your victims, great and small,
Shall whisk about you, one and all;
With banded wings like butterflies,
And, oh! such beautiful big eyes!
And eyelashes an inch at least,
And all their wealth of locks increast!
And faces brighter than of old,
And beautified a billion-fold,
And little else but face to show,
For having buried long ago
Their bodies, and the broken hearts
That plagued them so, in foreign parts;
In fact, such faces as you see
In keepsakes gilded gorgeously!
And they shall have sweet kisses too,
But none to waste on such as you!
No! they shall either cut you dead,
Or take to teasing you instead,
And point at you, and poke their fun,
And try your tempers, one by one,
And raise false hopes and lay them low,
And pout their lips to kiss, and go!
So shall they nip you in the bud,
Or leave you sticking in the mud,
That you may rue your fickle days
Of dancing, and your jilting ways!
Till haply you shall culminate
In quite a vegetable state,
And even run to waste, I wis,
And all for want of one poor kiss!