Page:A Legend of Camelot, Pictures and Poems, etc. George du Maurier, 1898.djvu/39

 FLIRTS IN HADES.

E maids, that practise wicked arts,

And eke young widows with light hearts;

Gay Guardsmen, and pet parsons dear,

And all such heartbreakers, see here!

I charge you all, and every one,

To waste no love ye may have won,

For fear of this grey limbo, where

All you fine flirts that ever were

Of either sex, shall bud and blow

As grafts on rooted stems, and grow,

For many a round of days and years,

Self-watered with your own salt tears;

And wipe your eyes on your own leaves,

For lack of pocket-handkerchieves!

And wet your lips at your own cost,

To whistle for the loves you lost;

That these may cast their eyes, and see

Fit cause to kiss, and set you free;

For if by dint of tears, or trace

Of some old unforgotten grace,

You chance to charm a stray kiss out

Of lips you once were fain to flout,

Then may you pluck yourselves, and use

Your leaves for pinions, if you choose,

To soar upon, and seek for peace;

Thus, only thus, the spell shall cease.

And trust me, you shall not, I trow,

Be beautiful and bright, as now;

Your features shall be modelled then

By Mr. Punch's smart young men!

And here your victims, great and small,

Shall whisk about you, one and all;

With banded wings like butterflies,

And, oh! such beautiful big eyes!

And eyelashes an inch at least,

And all their wealth of locks increast!

And faces brighter than of old,

And beautified a billion-fold,

And little else but face to show,

For having buried long ago

Their bodies, and the broken hearts

That plagued them so, in foreign parts;

In fact, such faces as you see

In keepsakes gilded gorgeously!

And they shall have sweet kisses too,

But none to waste on such as you!

No! they shall either cut you dead,

Or take to teasing you instead,

And point at you, and poke their fun,

And try your tempers, one by one,

And raise false hopes and lay them low,

And pout their lips to kiss, and go!

So shall they nip you in the bud,

Or leave you sticking in the mud,

That you may rue your fickle days

Of dancing, and your jilting ways!

Till haply you shall culminate

In quite a vegetable state,

And even run to waste, I wis,

And all for want of one poor kiss! 13