 | The lion's cub |  |
BIRDS OF A FEATHER.
Importune me no more,Close-fisted wife of mine,
Go in and shut the door,
I go elsewhere to dine;
For where the tapers shine
A score of good fellows be,
With whom till the night is late
I purpose to have some wine
(Scant in this house of thine),
And pledge old wives like thee,
Who hope to keep young husbands straight
By holding the purse-strings tight.
But, pauca verba, good-night!
55
Roost all night together;
And whether
We gather in hall or heather,
We bouse all night together!
| The lion's cub | |