Miss Fanny’s Farewell Flowers
Not “the posie of a ring.”
Shakespeare (all but the not).
I CAME to town a happy man:
I need not now dissemble
Why I return so sad at heart—
It’s all through Fanny Kemble:
Oh! when she threw her flowers away,
What urged the tragic slut on
To weave in such a wreath as that,
Ah me! a bachelor’s button.
None fought so hard, none fought so well,
As I to gain some token—
When all the pit rose up in arms,
And heads and hearts were broken;
“Huzza!” said I, “I’ll have a flower
As sure as my name’s Dutton;”—
I made a snatch—I got a catch—
By Jove! a bachelor’s button!
I’ve lost my watch—my hat is smashed—
My clothes declare the racket;
I went there in a full dress coat,
And came home in a jacket.
My nose is swell’d—my eye is black—
My lip I’ve got a cut on!
Odds buds!—and what a bud to get—
The deuce! a bachelor’s button!
My chest’s in pain; I really fear
I’ve somewhat hurt my bellows,
By pokes and punches in the ribs
From those herb-strewing fellows.
I miss two teeth in my front row;
My corn has had a fut on;
And all this pain I’ve had to gain
This cursed bachelor’s button.
Had I but won a rose—a bud—
A pansy—or a daisy—
A periwinkle—anything—
But this—it drives me crazy!
My very sherry tastes like squills,
I can’t enjoy my mutton;
And when I sleep I dream of it—
Still—still——a bachelor’s button
My place is book’d per coach to-night,
But oh, my spirit trembles
To think how country friends will ask
Of Knowleses and of Kembles.
If they should breathe about the wreath,
When I go back to Sutton,
I shall not dare to show my share,
That all!—a bachelor’s button!
My luck in life was never good,
But this my fate will burden:
I ne’er shall like my farming more,—
I know I shan’t the Garden.
The turnips all may have the fly,
The wheat may have the smut on,
I care not,—I’ve a blight at heart,—
Ah me!—a bachelor’s button!