OULD you the spangle of existence spend
In Matrimony? Slow about, my Friend!
A maiden's hair is more oft false than true,
And on the chemist may her blush depend.

A MAIDEN'S hair is more oft false than true!
Aye, and her Modiste is, perchance, the clue,
Could you but know it, to her sylph-like grace,
And, peradventure, to her _Figure_, too.

WHY, for this NOTHING, then, should you provoke
The gods, or lightly don the galling yoke
Of unpermitted pleasure, under pain
Of Alimony-until-Death, if broke?

WHY, when to-day your bills are promptly paid,
Assume the whims of some capricious maid,
Incur the debts you never did contract,
And yet must settle? Oh, the sorry trade!

[Illustration: I SWORE--BUT WAS I SOBER WHEN I SWORE?]

TO "settle down and marry," oft of yore,
I swore--but was I sober when I swore?
And then there came another girl--and I
Turned gaily to the old Love-Game, once more.

AND, much as I repented things like this,
And fondly dreamed of sweet Domestic Bliss,
I sometimes wonder what a wife can give,
One half so thrilling as a stolen kiss!

YET, if the hair should vanish from my brow,
My girth, in time, to great dimensions grow--
If youth's sweet-scented "Buds" should pass me by,
Accounting me an antiquated beau--

WHY then, some winged angel, ere too late--
Some maiden verging onto twenty-eight--
Will gladly take what's left of me, I trow,
And, leading me to wedlock, thank her Fate!

* * * * *

ALAS, for those who may to-day prepare
The wedding trousseau for the morrow's wear,
A voice of warning cried, "There's many a slip
Betwixt the Altar and the Solitaire!"

INTO this pact, man glides like water flowing,
But _out_ of it is not such easy going;
For they, who once were simple, guileless things,
In Breach-of-Promise lore are now more knowing.

[Illustration: WHAT! WOULD YOU CAST A LOVING WOMAN HENCE?]

WHAT! Would you cast a loving Woman hence?
Thou, Fickle One, prepare for penitence!
Full many a golden ducat shall you pay