THE AFFLICTED MAN'S
COMPANION.
'Twas in this town, not long ago,
(At least newspapers sayeth so,
Therefore it must be true)
A man did live who had a wife,
Who prov'd the torment of his life,
As women often do.
For she would drink from morn till night;
In fact, it was her sole delight;
Nor did she think it sin,
His clothes her "uncle" for to lend,
And then the money go and spend
On whisky or on gin.
The kettle, pot, and frying pan,
The washing-tab and wat'ring can,
Yea, even the baby's rattle
With knives and forks and spoons and ladle,
Kitchen chairs and stools and table,
All vanish'd down her thrapple.
The clock that hung against the wall,
Likewise the cobbler's last and awl
Tom us'u to mend his shoes with;
In fact, all that would lift she took,
From smoothing iron to chimney-crook,
To carry on the booze with.
