Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/475

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MIZIE'S COMPLAINT.
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To my hair I imparted a little more jet, And I scarce could suppress a sigh;But I cannot be quite an old bachelor yet, "No, there's time enough for that," said I.
I was now fifty-one, yet I still did adopt All the airs of a juvenile beau;But somehow, whenever the question I popped, The girls, with a laugh, said "No."I am sixty to-day, not a very young man, And a bachelor doomed to die;So youth be advised, and marry while you can— "There's no time to be lost," say I.
Mizie's Complaint.
It's very hard, you must admit,That at the needle I must sit,And stitch away from day to day,And not a beau will come my way.
The reason I can not divineWhy I am left to sit and pine;While every other girl I knowGoes sporting every night her beau.
It's not my fault, that I am sure;I'm not bad tempered, sad nor sour;But always cheerful and well pleased,Though I am sometimes sadly teased.
I'm sure I'd keep my house as clean,As Mary Rae or Maggie Cheyne,Who married were the other day,And why not I, as well as they?
And I could cook a dinner, too,Yes, better far than they can do;And plan and make old things look well,That they among their rags would sell.
I'm not a beauty, that I know,Nor ugly either; I can showLads have admired me, oh! how nice!But they have never asked my price.
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