University of Virginia Library

O Kate! am I late for the ride?
Pshaw! that horrid—that dreadful Fred Day,
Up the street he walked by my side,
Till I thought that he'd never go 'way.
I knew that our ride was at four,
Just the time when the beaux are all out;
But he chattered—the horrible bore!—
Dear knows what he did talk about.

“Why didn't I tell him to go?”
Well, somehow or other I couldn't;
He's one of the swell beaux, you know,
It I'd said go, I know now he wouldn't.
Yes, “handsome!” and sweet as a doll,
And he dances and flirts so divine
That you feel as if clasped by Apol—
O dear Kate, don't I wish he were mine!
Yes, first I meet Fred up at Rye;
`Twas a dance, a bouquet and a walk;
The wretch took my hand with a sigh,
But mamma came and broke up the talk.
O Kate, what a sweet laundalet!
(There is Fred walking over the street;
You dear scamp—you love of a pet!)
Seats easy—lined with drab, and so neat.
James in drab, too—dressed à propos;
What a love of a hat you do wear!
Strings negative drab, and just too
Lovely as we wear our back hair.
Take a peep at my braids, do you see
How classic? on the top of my head,
Just like the Venus of Milo—
Who can that be walking with Fred?
“Nellie M—, of West Thirty-third?”
O the wretch—the flirt! how he can!
For last night he gave me his word
Not to speak to the guy—O the man!
Why, at Richfield, last summer, they walked,
She on his arm; ate lunch on the grass;
And Fred took her hand as they talked—
Yes, I saw through my opera glass.
He's never said love to me, Kate,
How I'd frown him down quick at the word;
He's a flirt when he walks with N—, Kate—
With Nellie M—, of West Thirty-third!