I wed him because he looked nice (said she)
And I feared to be left on the shelf.
For I wouldn't take mother's advice (said she),
So I've no one to blame but myself.
My friends always said that he had a flat head
And a curious cranial kink;
But I feel 'neath the spell of his lovely marcel . . .
Now he's bald, and he's taken to drink.
I wed him because he looked slim (said she)
And athletic and noble and brave.
I thought there was no one like him (said she),
For he really knew how to behave.
Now he's humble and meek, and, whenever I speak,
He cringes and crawls like a tyke.
Tho' bay-windowed in front, he's the soul of a runt;
And I bully him just as I like.
I wed him because he looked sweet (said she),
Of manhood my very ideal.
I thought that my bliss was complete (said she):
I could hardly believe he was real.
But he's real right enough; tho' not quite of the stuff
I'd imagined the day I said 'Yes';
But I hardly mind that, tho' he's bald and he's fat
And slovenly, too, in his dress.
I wed him for better or worse (said she)
When with love I was slightly insane.
But there's ne'er a regret that I nurse (said she),
For I've really small cause to complain.
For I'm fifty and fat, and my arches are flat,
And I grumble and fidget and fuss.
Yet he thought me, he said a dream child when we wed.
So it's just fifty-fifty with us.
