And then proceeded—well, you know,—
(Excuse the vulgarism)—to clinch;
It would be wrong without a doubt,
That is, if anyone found out.

But then, remember, Life is short
And Woman's Arts are very long,
And sometimes when one didn't ought
One knowingly commits a wrong;
Well—speaking for myself, of course,
I almost always feel remorse.

One should not break one's self too fast
Of little habits of this sort,
Which may be definitely classed
With gambling or a taste for port;
They should be slowly dropped, until
The Heart is subject to the Will.

I knew a man on Seventh Street
Who, at a very slight expense,
By persevering, was complete-
Ly cured of total abstinence;
An altered life he has begun
And takes a horn with anyone.

I knew another man whose wife
Was an invet'rate suicide,
She daily strove to take her life
And (naturally) nearly died;
But some such system she essayed,
And now she's eighty in the shade.

Ah, the new leaves I try to turn,
But, like so many men in town,
I seem, as with regret I learn,
Merely to turn the corner down;
A habit which I fear, alack!
Makes it more easy to turn back.

I have been criticised a lot;
I venture to enquire what for;
Because, forsooth, I have not got
The instincts of a bachelor!
Just hear my story, you will find
How grossly I have been maligned.

I was unlucky with my wives,
So are the most of married men;
Undoubtedly they lost their lives,—
Of course, but even so, what then?
I loved them dearly, understand,
And I can love, to beat the band.

My first was little Emmeline,
More beautiful than day was she;
Her proud, aristocratic mien
Was what at once attracted me.
I naturally did not know
That I should soon dislike her so.

But there it was! And you'll infer
I had not very long to wait
Before my red-hot love for her
Turned to unutterable hate.
So, when this state of things I found,
I naturally had her drowned.

My next was Sarah, sweet but shy,
And quite inordinately meek;
Yes, even now I wonder why
I had her hanged within the week.
Perhaps I felt a bit upset,
Or else she bored me, I forget.

Then came Evangeline, my third,
And, when I chanced to be away,
She, so I subsequently heard,
Was wont (I deeply grieve to say)
With my small retinue to flirt.
I strangled her. I hope it hurt.

Isabel was, I think, my next,—
(That is, if I remember right)—
And I was really very vexed
To find her hair come off at night;
To falsehood I could not connive,
And so I had her boiled alive.

Then came Sophia, I believe,
Her coiffure was at least her own,
Alas! she fancied to deceive
Her friends by altering its tone.
She dyed her locks a flaming red!
I suffocated her in bed.

Susannah Maud was number six;