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Has published a book with a dreary name;
And yet (God bless her!) is mild and meek.
A wife so pretty and wise withal,
Haunts me, and makes me appear so small.
For I am a fellow of no degree,
And in city circles I say my say.
Is a chapter of Dickens, a sheet of the
“Times" When I lounge, after work, in my easy-chair; “Punch" for humor, and Praed for rhymes,
And the butterfly mots blown here and there
By the idle breath of the social air.
Hermioné, my Hermioné!
As ever poet of sentiment sung about !
And my lady-wife with the serious eyes
Brightens and lightens when he is nigh, And looks, although she is deep and wise,
As foolish and happy as he or I! And I have the courage just then, you see, To kiss the lips of HermionéThose learned lips that the learned praiseAnd to clasp her close as in sillier days; To talk and joke in a frolic vein;
To tell her my stories of things and men; And it never strikes me that I am profane, For she laughs and blushes, and kisses
again! And presto! fly goes her wisdom then! The boy claps hands, and is up on her breast,
Roaring to see her so bright with mirth; And I know she deems me (oh the jest !)
The cleverest fellow on all the earth!
And Hermioné, my Hermioné,
Does not seem to see I'm small-
That is the puzzle I can't make out-
For, whenever I think of it, night or morn,
“ BEAUTY CLARE."
HALF Lucrece, half Messalina,
When I see you, I compare
Surely Nature must have meant you
That sweet voice and glittering hair;
I think not. The moral door-step
When your victims you ensnare