The Song of the Humbugged Husband. Punch
She’s not what fancy painted her—
I’m sadly taken in:
If some one else had won her, I
Should not have cared a pin.
I thought that she was mild and good
As maiden e’er could be;
I wonder how she ever could
Have so much humbugg’d me.
They cluster round and shake my hand—
They tell me I am blest:
My case they do not understand—
I think that I know best.
They say she’s fairest of the fair—
They drive me mad and madder.
What do they mean by it? I swear
I only wish they had her.
’Tis true that she has lovely locks,
That on her shoulders fall;
What would they say to see the box
In which she keeps them all?
Her taper fingers, it is true,
’Twere difficult to match:
What would they say if they but knew
How terribly they scratch?