of these must be your present portion) Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore
for you, And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you.
You'll marry soon--within a year or twain - A bachelor of circa two and thirty:
Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain, And when you're intimate, you'll call
him "BERTIE." Neat--dresses well; his temper has been classified As
hasty; but he's very quickly pacified.
You'll find him working mildly at the Bar, After a touch at two or three professions,
From easy affluence extremely far, A brief or two on Circuit--"soup"
at Sessions; A pound or two from whist and backing horses, And, say three hundred
from his own resources.
Quiet in harness; free from serious vice, His faults are not particularly shady,
You'll never find him "SHY"--for, once or twice Already, he's been
driven by a lady, Who parts with him--perhaps a poor excuse for him - Because
she hasn't any further use for him.
Oh! bride of mine--tall, dumpy, dark, or fair! Oh! widow--wife, maybe, or blushing
ma
