London lyrics by Frederick Locker Lampson: With introduction and notes by Austin Dobson |
 |
MY NEIGHBOUR'S WIFE! |
 | London lyrics |  |
138
MY NEIGHBOUR'S WIFE!
Hark! Hark to my neighbour's flute!
Yon powder'd slave, that ox, that ass are his:
Hark to his wheezy pipe; my neighbour is
A worthy sort of brute.
Yon powder'd slave, that ox, that ass are his:
Hark to his wheezy pipe; my neighbour is
A worthy sort of brute.
My tuneful neighbour's rich—has houses, lands,
A wife (confound his flute)—a handsome wife!
Her love must give a gusto to his life.
See yonder—there she stands.
A wife (confound his flute)—a handsome wife!
Her love must give a gusto to his life.
See yonder—there she stands.
She turns, she gazes, she has lustrous eyes,
A throat like Juno, and Aurora's arms—
Per Bacco, what an affluence of charms!
My neighbour's drawn a prize.
A throat like Juno, and Aurora's arms—
Per Bacco, what an affluence of charms!
My neighbour's drawn a prize.
Yet, with all these, he too may have his woes,
His dreary doubts, and that eternal preaching;
Suffers he still from early pious teaching
As I do? Goodness knows!
His dreary doubts, and that eternal preaching;
139
As I do? Goodness knows!
How vain the wealth that breeds its own vexation!
Yet few of us would care to quite forego it:
Then weariness of soul—and many know it—
Is not a glad sensation:
Yet few of us would care to quite forego it:
Then weariness of soul—and many know it—
Is not a glad sensation:
And, therefore, neighbour mine, without a sting
I contemplate thy fields, thy house, thy flocks,
I covet not thy man, thine ass, thine ox,
Thy flute, thy—anything.
I contemplate thy fields, thy house, thy flocks,
I covet not thy man, thine ass, thine ox,
Thy flute, thy—anything.
| London lyrics | |