Billiards require grace, agility, skill;
No one without them can hope to excel;
But Harry never did anything ill
That it is manly and right to do well.
In my pretty turn-out with ponies gray,
At a rattling pace to the club I come,
And feel like a queen triumphantly gay,
As I drive my conquering Hero home.
I like him to play; I like him to win;
I like to wait by the Ocean expanse,
To watch its wild waves come careering in,
In regular order unknown to chance.
I like the scent of the weeds that they bear,
And their rolling sound on the pebbly beach;
I like the touch of the salt-flavour'd air;
There is beauty, pleasure, and health in each.
A little hotel in Bellhaven stands,
Where dinners are serv'd remarkably well,
And sometimes Harry slips out of my hands
And dines with Jack at this little hotel.
I'm not very fond of the place, I own;
Ought I to mind it, if Harry's amused?
But I feel so lonely when I'm alone,
And sometimes I feel a little ill-used.
'Tis seldom my husband deserts me thus,
He is always home ere the clock strikes ten;
So I won't be foolish and make a fuss,
But try to remember that men are men.
Sitting and waiting for Harry alone,
Watching the minutes, and wanting him back--
Why are you absent, my Harry, my own?
Am not I nicer than billiards and Jack?
Traitress to ask such a question! for shame!
Thou art, thou knowest, beginning and end!
His whole life is thine--he is _not_ to blame!
May not thy husband go out with a friend?
Thou art the false one, and he is the true--
Fretful and idle, unworthy thy king!
Hast thou not anything useful to do,
Thou good-for-nothing and cross little thing?
Scolding myself, I spring up from my chair,
Calling out loud that the time is _not_ long;
March down the room with a resolute air,
Seize my guitar, and burst out into song!
Poor little girl, sitting singing alone,
Pretty guitar round a slender neck hung,
Smiles on thy lips, but a sad little moan,
Deep in a heart that is foolish and young.
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