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(From In a Music Hall, 1891)
SHE’S thirty, this feminine cove, | |
| And she looks it at hand, you’ll allow. | |
| I was once on the streets. By Jove, | |
| I was handsomer then than now. | |
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| Thin lips? Oh, you bet! and deep lines. | 5 |
| So I powder and paint as you see; | |
| And that’s belladonna that shines | |
| Where a dingier light ought to be. | |
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| But I’m plump, and my legs—do you doubt me?— | |
| You’ll see when I go on the stage! | 10 |
| And there isn’t a pad, sir, about me; | |
| I’m a proper good girl for my age! | |
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| I can’t sing a bit, I can’t shout; | |
| But I go through my songs with a birr; | |
| And I always contrive to bring out | 15 |
| The meaning that tickles you, sir. | |
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| They were written for me; they’re the rage; | |
| They’re the plainest, the wildest, the shyest; | |
| For I find on the music-hall stage, | |
| That that kind of song goes the highest. | 20 |
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| So I give it them hot, with a glance | |
| Like the crack of a whip—oh, it stings! | |
| And a still, fiery smile, and a dance | |
| That indicates naughtiest things. | |
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| And I like it. It isn’t the best: | 25 |
| There are nurses, and nuns, and good wives; | |
| But life’s pretty much of a jest, | |
| And you can’t very well lead two lives. | |
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| But sometimes wild eyes will grow tame, | |
| And a voice have a tone—ah, you men!— | 30 |
| And a beard please me—oh, there’s my name! | |
| Well? I take a week’s holiday then. | |
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