Part 3 (1/2)
YES, I am Bluebeard, and my name Is one that children cannot stand; Yet once I used to be so tame I'd eat out of a person's hand; So gentle was I wont to be A Curate might have played with me.
People accord me little praise, Yet I am not the least alarming; I can recall, in bygone days, A maid once said she thought me charming.
She was my friend,--no more I vow,-- And--she's in an asylum now.
Girls used to clamour for my hand, Girls I refused in simple dozens; I said I'd be their brother, and They promised they would be my cousins.
(One, I accepted,--more or less-- But I've forgotten her address.)
They worried me like anything By their proposals ev'ry day, Until at last I had to ring The bell, and have them cleared away; (I often pondered on the cost Of getting them completely lost.)
To share my somewhat lofty rank Was what they panted for, like mad; You see my balance at the bank Was not so small, and, I may add, A Castle, Gothic and immense, Is my Official Residence.
It overlooks a many a mile Of park, of gardens and domains; I'm staying now in lodgings, while They're doing up the--well--the drains,-- For they began to give offence At my Official Residence.
And, when I entertain at home, I hardly ever fail to please, The ”upper tens” alone may come To join in my ”recherche” teas; I am a King in ev'ry sense At my Official Residence.
My dances, on a parquet floor, My royal dinners, which consist Of fifteen courses, sometimes more, Are things that are not lightly missed; In fact I do not spare expense At my Official Residence.
My hospitality to those Whom I invite to come and stay Is famed; my wine like water flows, Exactly like, some people say, But this is mere impertinence At my Official Residence.
When through the streets I walk about My subjects stand and kiss their hands, Raise a refined metallic shout, Wave flags and warble tunes on bands, While bunting hangs on ev'ry front,-- With my commands to let it bunt.
When I come home again, of course, Retainers are employed to cheer, My paid domestics get quite hoa.r.s.e Acclaiming me, and you can hear The welkin ringing to the sky,-- Aye, aye, and let it welk, say I!
And yet, in spite of this, there are Some persons who, at diff'rent times, --(Because I am so popular)-- Accuse me of most awful crimes; A girl once said I was a flirt!
Oh my! how the expression hurt!
I _never_ flirted in the least, Never for very long, I mean,-- Ask any lady (now deceased) Who partner of my life has been;-- Oh well, of course, sometimes, perhaps, I meet a girl, like other chaps.
And, if I like her very much, And if she cares for me a bit, Where is the harm of look or touch If neither of us mentions it?
It isn't right, I don't suppose, But no one's hurt if no one knows!
And, if I placed my hand below Her chin and raised her face an inch, 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 cla.s.sed 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.