But the time for that is over,
And I wish we'd never met.
I'm afraid I've proved a rover--
I'm afraid a heartless rover--
Quarters in a place like Dover
Tend to make a man forget.
Bills for carriages and horses,
Bills for wine and light cigar,
Matters that concern the Forces--
News that may affect the Forces--
News affecting my resources,
Much more interesting are!
And the tiny little paper,
With the words that seem to run
From her little fingers taper
(They are very small and taper),
By the tailor and the draper
Are in interest outdone.
And unopened it's remaining!
I can read her gentle hope--
Her entreaties, uncomplaining
(She was always uncomplaining),
Her devotion never waning--
Through the little envelope!
At A Pantomime. By A Bilious One
An Actor sits in doubtful gloom,
His stock-in-trade unfurled,
In a damp funereal dressing-room
In the Theatre Royal, World.
He comes to town at Christmas-time,
And braves its icy breath,
To play in that favourite pantomime,
Harlequin Life and Death.
A hoary flowing wig his weird
Unearthly cranium caps,
He hangs a long benevolent beard
On a pair of empty chaps.
To smooth his ghastly features down
The actor's art he cribs,--
A long and a flowing padded gown.
Bedecks his rattling ribs.
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