I says I ain't no judge of that; an' treats it with a laugh.
But she keeps the talk on husbands for a minute an' a half.
I can't do much but spar a bit, an' keep her out of range;
So the third round is the widow's; an' the fight takes on a change.
I'm longin' for a breather, for I've done my nerve a lot.
When suddenly she starts on "Love," an' makes the pace reel hot.
In half a jiff she has me on the ropes, an' breathin' hard.
With not a fight inside me — I can only duck an' guard.
She uppercuts me with a sigh, an' jabs me with a glance.
(When a widow is the fighter, has a single bloke a chance?)
Her short-arm blows are amorous, most lovin' is her lunge;
Until it's just a touch an' go I don't throw up the sponge.
I use my head-piece here a bit to wriggle from the fix;
For the widow is a winner 'less I fluke a win by tricks.
An' I gets a reel mean notion (that I don't seek to excuse).
When I interrupts her rudely with, "But have you heard the news?"
Now, to a woman, that's a lead dead certain of a score.
An' a question that the keenest is unable to ignore.
An' good old Curiosity comes in to second me.
As I saw her struggle hopeless, an' "What news is that?" says she.
