The Poetical Works of Horace Smith Now First Collected. In Two Volumes |
 | I. |
 | II. |
|
AN EASY REMEDY. |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
 | The Poetical Works of Horace Smith |  |
151
AN EASY REMEDY.
An honest tailor, whose baptismal
And patronymic appellations
Were William Button, had a dismal
Tendency to deep potations;
And though, as he was over-mated,
Like Jerry Sneak, our snip was fated
In spite of all his hungry heavings,
To drink the tea and coffee leavings,
And eat cold mutton-flaps at dinner;
Yet sometimes the rebellious sinner,
Asserting his marital rights,
Would on the wages-paying nights,
Betake him to the public-house,
To smoke, and tipple, and carouse;
And as with each new dram and sip he
Still more and more pot-valiant grew,
At last he fairly braved his spouse,
Call'd her a vixen and a shrew,
A Jezabel and a Xantippe!
And patronymic appellations
Were William Button, had a dismal
Tendency to deep potations;
And though, as he was over-mated,
Like Jerry Sneak, our snip was fated
In spite of all his hungry heavings,
To drink the tea and coffee leavings,
And eat cold mutton-flaps at dinner;
Yet sometimes the rebellious sinner,
Asserting his marital rights,
Would on the wages-paying nights,
152
To smoke, and tipple, and carouse;
And as with each new dram and sip he
Still more and more pot-valiant grew,
At last he fairly braved his spouse,
Call'd her a vixen and a shrew,
A Jezabel and a Xantippe!
Returning home one night, our varlet
Bold with his wife-compelling liquor,
Rattled the knocker quick and quicker,
When with fierce eye and face of scarlet
His tender spouse appeared, and shrilly
Vented reproaches on her Willy.
“So, Jackanapes, you've come at last!
No doubt the evening has been passed
In tippling purl, you drunken sot,
Mull'd ale and amber, hot and hot;
While your poor wife is left to slave,
And drink cold water from the can,
Cold water, ye remorseless knave!”
“Cold!” cried the husband, who began
In turn to wrangle and to storm it,—
“Cold! ye poor lazy slattern;—cold!
Then why, ye good-for nothing scold,
Why don't you warm it?”
Bold with his wife-compelling liquor,
Rattled the knocker quick and quicker,
When with fierce eye and face of scarlet
His tender spouse appeared, and shrilly
Vented reproaches on her Willy.
“So, Jackanapes, you've come at last!
No doubt the evening has been passed
In tippling purl, you drunken sot,
Mull'd ale and amber, hot and hot;
While your poor wife is left to slave,
And drink cold water from the can,
153
“Cold!” cried the husband, who began
In turn to wrangle and to storm it,—
“Cold! ye poor lazy slattern;—cold!
Then why, ye good-for nothing scold,
Why don't you warm it?”
| The Poetical Works of Horace Smith | |