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 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
THE ADJOURNMENT. (26th May, 1882.)
I am weary of wishing discernment
In our rulers, like mine;
And I jump at the rest of Adjournment;
If it's only to—dine.
In our rulers, like mine;
And I jump at the rest of Adjournment;
If it's only to—dine.
494
I am weary of talk and want resting,
If for but a few days;
And I laugh as I come to divesting
My political stays.
If for but a few days;
And I laugh as I come to divesting
My political stays.
I am weary of Parliament's session,
And its wrangles grow dull;
And the flower of some sweet indiscretion,
I am eager to cull.
And its wrangles grow dull;
And the flower of some sweet indiscretion,
I am eager to cull.
I am weary of Brummagem glory,
Of the Parnell and prig;
For the Bible says God is a Tory,
And old Satan a Whig.
Of the Parnell and prig;
For the Bible says God is a Tory,
And old Satan a Whig.
I am weary of Pats that lead blindly,
And I hope for a hush;
Till sour Sexton has learnt to speak kindly,
And bold Biggar to blush.
And I hope for a hush;
Till sour Sexton has learnt to speak kindly,
And bold Biggar to blush.
I am weary of Dillon and murther,
And yet murther again;
Though the Devil can never go further,
Than the end of his chain.
And yet murther again;
Though the Devil can never go further,
Than the end of his chain.
I am weary of Gladstone's long fooling,
Who can only cry “mew”;
And I long for an hour of the ruling,
Of the heaven-sent Jew.
Who can only cry “mew”;
And I long for an hour of the ruling,
Of the heaven-sent Jew.
I am weary of bloodthirsty peasants,
And want rustics to woo;
I look forward to potting the phcasants,
And a Fenian or two.
And want rustics to woo;
I look forward to potting the phcasants,
And a Fenian or two.
I am weary of Jingo who travels,
That with Dukes he may sup;
Of the problem each season unravels,
For the next to tie up.
That with Dukes he may sup;
Of the problem each season unravels,
For the next to tie up.
I am weary already of dances,
And the kisses are cold;
There remains not a rag of romances,
And the youthful look old.
And the kisses are cold;
There remains not a rag of romances,
And the youthful look old.
I am weary of women, who blossom
In ambiguous charms;
Of the beauties, who boldly unbosom,
With rude shoulders and arms.
In ambiguous charms;
Of the beauties, who boldly unbosom,
With rude shoulders and arms.
I am weary of fops with tight stays on,
And of ball-rooms and belles;
Of the flirts, who so lavishly blazon
Their unsaleable spells.
And of ball-rooms and belles;
Of the flirts, who so lavishly blazon
Their unsaleable spells.
495
I am weary of lovely cosmetics,
And the prettiest pout;
And a twinge for a course of ascetics,
Comes from conscience or—gout.
And the prettiest pout;
And a twinge for a course of ascetics,
Comes from conscience or—gout.
I am weary of routs and want morè way,
Free from powder and plush;
From the overdressed crowd at the doorway,
And the drawingroom crush.
Free from powder and plush;
From the overdressed crowd at the doorway,
And the drawingroom crush.
I am weary of treading a ladder,
Hung as Jacob's in air;
And the vision grows paler and sadder,
Though the angels are there.
Hung as Jacob's in air;
And the vision grows paler and sadder,
Though the angels are there.
I am weary of love in the abstract,
And too general a sweet;
And the passing from clubs to the cabs' tract,
Is my only concrete.
And too general a sweet;
And the passing from clubs to the cabs' tract,
Is my only concrete.
I am weary of fashions half-hearted,
And the rosewater strife;
For the grace (with the starch) has departed,
From the shirtfronts of life.
And the rosewater strife;
For the grace (with the starch) has departed,
From the shirtfronts of life.
I am weary of hypocrites' faces,
Of the preachers who pant,
Through the mask of their lying grimaces,
For the charms they enchant.
Of the preachers who pant,
Through the mask of their lying grimaces,
For the charms they enchant.
I am weary of dowagers matching
Strange paces and legs;
And the humbugs, who ever are hatching
Matrimonial eggs.
Strange paces and legs;
And the humbugs, who ever are hatching
Matrimonial eggs.
I am weary of actresses' painting,
And ambassadors' pugs;
Of fine ladies addicted to fainting,
At Bradlaughs or—b*gs.
And ambassadors' pugs;
Of fine ladies addicted to fainting,
At Bradlaughs or—b*gs.
I am weary of tragedy dinners
And the organized lies;
And the raptures of delicate sinners,
Now no longer I prize.
And the organized lies;
And the raptures of delicate sinners,
Now no longer I prize.
I am weary of Luxury's plenty,
Though the source may be vague;
For the stir and the magic of Twenty,
Are to Thirty a plague.
Though the source may be vague;
For the stir and the magic of Twenty,
Are to Thirty a plague.
I am weary of follies, that flutter
Not a pulse in my veins;
And the comfited compliments utter
The most tuneless of strains.
Not a pulse in my veins;
And the comfited compliments utter
The most tuneless of strains.
496
I am weary of wanton Belgravia,
Its voluptuous air;
And I forget to adjust my behaviour
To betitled Mayfair.
Its voluptuous air;
And I forget to adjust my behaviour
To betitled Mayfair.
I am weary of elegant trifling,
Of the dawdling and bows;
Every pleasure is stupid or stifling,
From the Highlands to Cowes.
Of the dawdling and bows;
Every pleasure is stupid or stifling,
From the Highlands to Cowes.
I am weary of Park and of carriage,
Of old china and Guelf;
And I poise between murder and marriage
Or—the killing myself.
Of old china and Guelf;
And I poise between murder and marriage
Or—the killing myself.
I am weary of drawling the speeches,
That I drawled from the first;
Of pet vices that fasten like leeches,
And are ever athirst.
That I drawled from the first;
Of pet vices that fasten like leeches,
And are ever athirst.
I am weary of all that is proper,
And Society's curbs;
Of Decorum that comes with a stopper,
For irregular verbs.
And Society's curbs;
Of Decorum that comes with a stopper,
For irregular verbs.
I am weary of life so unselfish,
And of padding my breast;
Let me shut out the world like a shellfish,
Davitt take all the rest.
And of padding my breast;
Let me shut out the world like a shellfish,
Davitt take all the rest.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |