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; But she did not survive a day; Poor Sue, she had no parlour tricks And hardly anything to say. A little strychnine in her tea Finished her off, and I was free. Yet I did not despair, and soon! In spite of failures, started off Upon my seventh honeymoon With Jane; but could not stand her cough. 'Twas chronic. Kindness was in vain. I pushed her underneath the train. Well, after her, I married Kate. A most unpleasant woman. Oh! I caught her at the garden gate Kissing a man I didn't know; And, as that didn't suit me quite, I blew her up with dynamite. Most married men, so sorely tried As this, would have been rather bored. Not I, but chose another bride And married Ruth. Alas! she snored! I served her just the same as Kate, And so she joined the other eight. My last was Grace; I am not clear, I _think_ she didn't like me much; She used to scream when I came near, And shuddered at my lightest touch. She seemed to wish to keep aloof, And so I threw her off the roof. This is the point I wish to make:-- From all the wives for whom I grieve, Whose lives I had perforce to take, Not one complaint did I receive; And no expense was spared to please My spouses at their obsequies. My habits, I would have you know, Are perfect, as they've always been; You ask if I am good, and go To church, and keep my fingers clean? I do, I mean to say I am, I have the morals of a lamb. In my domains there is no sin, Virtue is rampant all the time, Since I so thoughtfully brought in A bill which legalizes crime; Committing things that are not wrong Must pall before so very long. And if what you imagine vice Is not considered so at all, Crime doesn't seem the least bit nice, There's no temptation then to fall; For half the charm of things we do Is knowing that we oughtn't to.