A Very True Tale
(To be sung to the Air of the "Whistling Oyster.")
An elderly person--a prophet by trade--
With his quips and tips
On withered old lips,
He married a young and a beautiful maid;
The cunning old blade!
Though rather decayed,
He married a beautiful, beautiful maid.
She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be,
With her tempting smiles
And maidenly wiles,
And he was a trifle past seventy-three:
Now what she could see
Is a puzzle to me,
In a prophet of seventy--seventy-three!
Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad)
With their loud high jinks
And underbred winks,
None thought they'd a family have--but they had;
A dear little lad
Who drove 'em half mad,
For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.
For when he was born he astonished all by,
With their "Law, dear me!"
"Did ever you see?"
He'd a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye,
A hat all awry--
An octagon tie--
And a miniature--miniature glass in his eye.
He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap,
With his "Oh, dear, oh!"
And his "Hang it! 'oo know!"
And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap--
"My friends, it's a tap
Dat is not worf a rap."
(Now this was remarkably excellent pap.)
He'd chuck his nurse under the chin, and he'd say,
With his "Fal, lal, lal"--
"'Oo doosed fine gal!"
This shocking precocity drove 'em away:
"A month from to-day
Is as long as I'll stay--
Then I'd wish, if you please, for to toddle away.
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