 | Poetical sketches |  |
Thus importuned, what can he do?
He loves his wife, and daughters too;
And, though himself had rather stay
T'inspect, or even make, his hay;
Though he abominates the stir
And stench of crowded theatre,
Remembering well the scented gale
That ventilates his native vale:
Though balls annoy where sylphids meet,
To ply untired their nimble feet,
Here figuring in, there crossing over—
The reason why, he can't discover:
Though on a ten yards' terrace he
Scarcely finds room to bend his knee,
Or on a scanty mile of beach
His favourite hunter's legs can stretch;
Yet will he go! With glad surprise
They read the answer in his eyes;
And all the toilette ammunition
Is instant put in requisition.
He loves his wife, and daughters too;
And, though himself had rather stay
T'inspect, or even make, his hay;
Though he abominates the stir
And stench of crowded theatre,
87
That ventilates his native vale:
Though balls annoy where sylphids meet,
To ply untired their nimble feet,
Here figuring in, there crossing over—
The reason why, he can't discover:
Though on a ten yards' terrace he
Scarcely finds room to bend his knee,
Or on a scanty mile of beach
His favourite hunter's legs can stretch;
Yet will he go! With glad surprise
They read the answer in his eyes;
And all the toilette ammunition
Is instant put in requisition.
| Poetical sketches | |