Page:Comic valentine writer.pdf/19

 Yes, kneel, man, kneel, and look sheepishly wise, And force a few tears through your crocodile eyes,
 * From your heart of steel;

Then look like a hypocrite—just what you are, In the posture, but not in the spirit of prayer;
 * Still kneel, man, kneel!

And smite, man, smite your treacherous breast, Whilst swearing, as usual, you vow and protest
 * That your heart is right:

But remember, last year, you did just the same, And swore that your heart it was all in a flame;
 * So smite, man, smite!

And weep, man, weep, till your cheeks are sore With the briny fluid, that shall rapidly pour
 * From your eyes so fine:

Yet when, man, when you've done smiting and kneeling, Weeping, sighing, and dying, with exquisite feeling,
 * You'll ne'er be mine.

Ah! Simon Selfish, lack-a-day, Methinks I hear the people say,
 * Here comes the sorry elf,

The man who rarely gets a bone To pick, but chums his crust alone,
 * That moulders on the shelf.

Behold him in his nook, I ween, Where any thing but comfort's seen,
 * Around his dingy hole;

Anon he darns his tatter'd hose, Or cleans a napkin for his nose,
 * The groom of his own stool!

'Tis passing strange, the secret's out, Why who would pair with such a lout,
 * With ideas unrefin'd;—

Neglected and despis'd you live, While inly to yourself you grieve,
 * The fair are so unkind.