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The Ingoldsby Legends

or, Mirth and Marvels. By Thomas Ingoldsby [i.e. R. H. Barham]

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Moral.
  
  
  
  
  
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Moral.

Now then for a moral, which always arrives
At the end, like the honey bees take to their hives,
And the more one observes it the better one thrives.—
We have all heard it said in the course of our lives
“Needs must when a certain old gentleman drives,”
'Tis the same with a lady,—if once she contrives
To get hold of the ribands, how vainly one strives
To escape from her lash, or to shake off her gyves.
Then let's act like Count Otto, and while one survives
Succumb to our She-Saints—videlicet wives.
(Aside.)
That is if one has not a “good bunch of fives.”—
(I can't think how that last line escaped from my quill,
For I am sure it has nothing to do with Odille.)

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Now young ladies to you!—
Don't put on the shrew!
And don't be surprised if your father looks blue
When you're pert, and won't act as he wants you to do!
Be sure that you never elope;—there are few,—
Believe me you'll find what I say to be true,—
Who run restive, but find as they bake they must brew,
And come off at the last with “a hole in their shoe;”
Since not even Clapham, that sanctified ville,
Can produce enough Saints to save every Odille.