Some change, of course, should be in force But, surely, not so much-- There may be hands I may not squeeze But must I never touch?-- Must I forbear to hand a chair And not pick up a fan? But I have been myself picked up-- I’m not a single man! XIII. Others may hint a lady’s tint Is purest red and white-- May say her eyes are like the skies, So very blue and bright,-- _I_ must not say that she _has eyes_; Or if I so began, I have my fears about my ears,-- I’m not a single man! XIV. I must confess I did not guess A simple marriage vow, Would make me find all women-kind Such unkind women now;-- I might be hash’d to death, or smash’d By Mr. Pickford’s van, Without, I fear, a single tear. I’m not a single man! THE GHOST. A VERY SERIOUS BALLAD. “I’ll be your second.”--LISTON. In Middle Row, some years ago, There lived one Mr. Brown; And many folks considered him The stoutest man in town. But Brown and stout will both wear out, One Friday he died hard, And left a widow’d wife to mourn At twenty pence a yard. Now widow B. in two short months Thought mourning quite a tax; And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce, To _manumit_ her blacks. With Mr. Street she soon was sweet; The thing thus came about: She asked him in at home, and then At church he asked her out! Assurance such as this the man In ashes could not stand; So like a Phœnix he rose up Against the Hand in Hand. One dreary night the angry sprite Appeared before her view; It came a little after one, But she was after two “Oh Mrs. B., oh Mrs. B.! Are these your sorrow’s deeds, Already getting up a flame, To burn your widow’s weeds? “It’s not so long since I have left For aye the mortal scene; My memory--like Rogers’s, Should still be bound in green! “Yet if my face you still retrace I almost have a doubt-- I’m like an old Forget-Me-Not, With all the leaves torn out! “To think that on that finger-joint, Another pledge should cling; Oh Bess! upon my very soul, It struck like ‘Knock and Ring.’ “A ton of marble on my breast Can’t hinder my return; Your conduct, Ma’am, has set my blood A-boiling in my urn! “Remember, oh! remember how The marriage rite did run,-- If ever we one flesh should be, ’Tis now--when I have none! “And you, Sir--once a bosom friend-- Of perjured faith convict, As ghostly toe can give no blow, Consider you are kick’d. “A hollow voice is all I have, But this I tell you plain, Marry come up!--you marry, Ma’am, And I’ll come up again.”