STRAY VERSE.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 3660, 23 October 1912, Page 9

STRAY VERSE.

WHICH DIO YOU MARRY?

THE OPTIMIST

My wife’s so good she gives me ice

cream And lovely new-laid eggs; She’s sweet as raisins, and so neat, Das everything on pegs. She milks the coav Avith gentle hand, Her butter is a sight; And, ch! her chicken fricasse Would any man delight. Her steaks are tender and her bread xs perfect as can bo; She’d feed the tramps with it: but, then, It isn’t safe, yon see. She keeps a stork of wood on hand, Coal hills grow loss each day; And av ashing clothes is such an art, That white as snow they are. N, She radishes her stove till it

Is like a looking-glass, And you will say her floor is clean If you her kitchen pass. No flies e’er poison things we eat, Siic keeps them all shut out. Yes, when I married her, I knew Just what I was about. THE PESSIMIST. My wife’s so mean she whips the cream And beats tho new-laid eggs ; She also stones the raisins and Hangs towels up on j>cgs ; She robs the helpless cow of milk Churns butter like she’s mad ; Kills chickens for the fricasse. That is a Sunday fad. Sue pounds tho steak and kneads the dough— Thinks violence is fun, And when a tramp applies for food

She offers him a gun. She splits the wood to splithereens, 1 Burns coal up ev’ry day, Rubs clothes so hard on washing board that worn to shreds .they are. The reputation of her stove • is very, very black; And if you try to cross her floor You land upon your back. E’en flies with her have ne’er a chance, • She chases them all out; And I go, too, for I have sense, And know what I’in about. —Marion Taylor.

THE TEA ROOM. In the tea-room, four to five, What a claek of tongues is going! Scandal very much alive, Winks, nods, and whispers knowing. Hear the murmur of the hive Buzzing, burdening, and blowing! What ia clack of tongues is going! Tea, thy nectar can revive All tlieir chuckling and their crowing; When in unison they strive, Walls would flame with blushes glowing, If tlieir ears were sensitive! Scandal very much alive, Fruitful seeds of feuds is sowing; “Time that Rupert though to wive, Such it hot-bed lie is hoeing! Look, jHHir Lucy can’t contrive How to keep the die from showing!” Winks, and nods, and whispers knowing. “Winnie’s bracelet? It’s a gyve, Bet yer life the mark she’s toeing— Ugly, coarse, and fifty-five. Watch him while his food he’s stowing, Nost in cup, oh, what a dive!” Hear the murmur of the hive: “Elam she does her own bad sewing”— “Take you for a motor drivo’’— “Boating, Claude will do the lowing”— “Trixie has her eye on Clive ’ — “Mrs B.’s moustache is growing!”

Buzzing, burdening, and blowing, Hear the murmur of the hive ! Winks, and nods, and -whispers knowing, Scandal very much alive. What a clack of tongues is going —Melbourne “Punch.”