 | Rhymes with reason and without |  |
73
MRS. PARTINGTON AT TEA.
Good Mistress P.
Sat sipping her tea,
Sipping it, sipping it, Isaac and she;
What though the wind blew fiercely around,
And the rain on the pane gave a comfortless sound?
Little cared she,
Kind Mistress P.,
As Isaac and she sat sipping their tea.
Sat sipping her tea,
Sipping it, sipping it, Isaac and she;
What though the wind blew fiercely around,
And the rain on the pane gave a comfortless sound?
Little cared she,
Kind Mistress P.,
As Isaac and she sat sipping their tea.
And in memory
What sights did she see,
As Isaac and she sat sipping their tea!
She turned her gaze to the opposite wall,
Where hung the profile of Corporal Paul,
And fancies free,
To Mistress P.,
Arose in her mind like the steam of the tea.
What sights did she see,
As Isaac and she sat sipping their tea!
She turned her gaze to the opposite wall,
Where hung the profile of Corporal Paul,
And fancies free,
To Mistress P.,
Arose in her mind like the steam of the tea.
And little saw she,
Blind Mistress P.,
As silently she sat sipping her tea,—
With her eyes on the wall and her mind away,—
That Isaac was taking the time to play:
And wicked was he
To Mistress P.,
As dreamily she sat sipping her tea.
Blind Mistress P.,
As silently she sat sipping her tea,—
74
That Isaac was taking the time to play:
And wicked was he
To Mistress P.,
As dreamily she sat sipping her tea.
For Isaac he,
In diablerie,
Emptied her rappee into her tea;
And the old dame tasted and tasted on,
Till she thought, good soul, that her taste was gone,
For the souchong tea
And the strong rappee
Sorely puzzled the palate of Mistress P.
In diablerie,
Emptied her rappee into her tea;
And the old dame tasted and tasted on,
Till she thought, good soul, that her taste was gone,
For the souchong tea
And the strong rappee
Sorely puzzled the palate of Mistress P.
MORAL.
This moral, you see,
Is drawn from the tea
That Isaac had ruined for Mistress P.:
Forever will mix in the cup of our joy
The dark rappee of sorrow's alloy,
And none are free,
Any more than she,
From annoying alloys that mix with their tea.
Is drawn from the tea
That Isaac had ruined for Mistress P.:
Forever will mix in the cup of our joy
The dark rappee of sorrow's alloy,
And none are free,
Any more than she,
From annoying alloys that mix with their tea.
| Rhymes with reason and without | |