Page:The eighth sin (IA eighthsin00morlrich).pdf/49



But while the captious Scot looked out For keepers strolling round about I tiptoed up. With horrid qualms Encircled her with profane arms And (inly shuddering) then I placed Unhallowed fingers on her waist, And her whom I had long adored I girdled with the impious cord. O had there been an ancient Greek To see the faint flush on her cheek He would have slain me on the spot.

Then said my friend (irreverent Scot) ''What do you make it? Thirty-three?'' But Venus' eyes were fixed on me And in my innate chivalry I could not tell the brutal truth, (Her girth was thirty-five in sooth) Your guess was wrong, and so was mine Quoth I. Her waist is twenty-nine.

And as we hurried down the aisle Her eyes pursued me with a smile. How glad we were no-one had seen us Measuring the waist of Venus.