 | The Triangular Society |  |
41
THE SONG OF THE SEASON.
Darling, you have taken cold,
It is easy to be told,—
That 's the sixteenth time to-day
You have sneezed that dreadful way!
I'll exhibit presently
Foot-baths hot, and ginger tea,
Else, my darling, you will be
Sick as Punch, 't is plain to see.
It is easy to be told,—
That 's the sixteenth time to-day
You have sneezed that dreadful way!
I'll exhibit presently
Foot-baths hot, and ginger tea,
Else, my darling, you will be
Sick as Punch, 't is plain to see.
You must take a sweat to-night,
And when you are melted quite
With the heat and perspira-
tion, I cannot choose but say—
Oh, my darling, mine alone!
I am grieved to hear you groan,
But this remedy, my own,
Is the best prescription known.
And when you are melted quite
With the heat and perspira-
tion, I cannot choose but say—
Oh, my darling, mine alone!
I am grieved to hear you groan,
But this remedy, my own,
Is the best prescription known.
Darling, we must cure your cold,
Or, ere ever you grow old,
Rheumatism will rack you—oh,
But its twinges torture so!
Ah, this weather's wicked will
Is enough to make you ill—
Yes, my darling, frost and chill
Sharpen many a doctor's bill.
Or, ere ever you grow old,
Rheumatism will rack you—oh,
But its twinges torture so!
Ah, this weather's wicked will
Is enough to make you ill—
Yes, my darling, frost and chill
Sharpen many a doctor's bill.
Let me move your easy chair
Farther from this draught of air—
Put your feet up in a row
On the nice warm stove-hearth, so;
I am fearful you have grown
Careless of your health, my own,
For you cough, and wheeze, and moan,
Like a phthisicky trombone.
Farther from this draught of air—
42
On the nice warm stove-hearth, so;
I am fearful you have grown
Careless of your health, my own,
For you cough, and wheeze, and moan,
Like a phthisicky trombone.
L'ENVOI.
Darling, you have taken cold,That is easy to be told,
Sneezing in that dreadful way,—
That 's the sixteenth time to-day!
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