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 HE world is not a perfect one,
 * All women are not wise or pretty,

All that are willing are not won—
 * More’s the pity—more’s the pity!

“Playing wall-flower’s rather flat,”
 * L’Allegro or Penseroso—

Not that women care for that—
 * But oh! they hate the slighting beau so!

Delia says my dancing’s bad—
 * She’s found it out since I have cut her;

She says wit I never had—
 * I said she “smelt of bread and butter.”

Mrs. Milton coldly bows—
 * I did not think her baby “cunning;”

Gertrude says I’ve little “”—
 * I tired of her atrocious punning.

Tom’s wife says my taste is vile—
 * I condemned her macarony;

Miss McLush, my flirt awhile,
 * Hates me—I preferred her crony;