Ah, friend of mine, how goes it, Since you've taken you a mate?-- Your smile, though, plainly shows it Is a very happy state! Dan Cupid's necromancy! You must sit you down and dine, And lubricate your fancy With a glass or two of wine. And as you have "deserted," As my other chums have done, While I laugh alone diverted, As you drop off one by one-- And I've remained unwedded, Till--you see--look here--that I'm, In a manner, "snatched bald-headed" By the sportive hand of Time! I'm an "old 'un!" yes, but wrinkles Are not so plenty, quite, As to cover up the twinkles Of the BOY--ain't I right? Yet, there are ghosts of kisses Under this mustache of mine My mem'ry only misses When I drown 'em out with wine. From acknowledgment so ample, You would hardly take me for What I am--a perfect sample Of a "jolly bachelor"; Not a bachelor has being When he laughs at married life But his heart and soul's agreeing That he ought to have a wife! Ah, ha I old chum, this claret, Like Fatima, holds the key Of the old Blue-Beardish garret Of my hidden mystery! Did you say you'd like to listen? Ah, my boy! the "SAD NO MORE!" And the tear-drops that will glisten-- TURN THE CATCH UPON THE DOOR, And sit you down beside me, And put yourself at ease-- I'll trouble you to slide me That wine decanter, please; The path is kind o' mazy Where my fancies have to go, And my heart gets sort o' lazy On the journey--don't you know? Let me see--when I was twenty-- It's a lordly age, my boy, When a fellow's money's plenty, And the leisure to enjoy-- And a girl--with hair as golden As--THAT; and lips--well--quite As red as THIS I'm holdin' Between you and the light. And eyes and a complexion-- Ah, heavens!--le'-me-see-- Well,--just in this connection,-- DID YOU LOCK THAT DOOR FOR ME? Did I start in recitation My past life to recall? Well, THAT'S an indication I am purty tight--that's all! THE SPEEDING OF THE KING'S SPITE A king--estranged from his loving Queen By a foolish royal whim-- Tired and sick of the dull routine Of matters surrounding him-- Issued a mandate in this wise.-- "THE DOWER OF MY DAUGHTER'S HAND I WILL GIVE TO HIM WHO HOLDS THIS PRIZE, THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND." But the King, sad sooth! in this grim decree Had a motive low and mean;-- 'Twas a royal piece of chicanery To harry and spite the Queen; For King though he was, and beyond compare, He had ruled all things save one-- Then blamed the Queen that his only heir Was a daughter--not a son. The girl had grown, in the mother's care, Like a bud in the shine and shower That drinks of the wine of the balmy air Till it blooms into matchless flower; Her waist was the rose's stem that bore The flower--and the flower's perfume-- That ripens on till it bulges o'er With its wealth of bud and bloom.