The American Slave.

Come, muster your pleasantest smile, my dear,
And put on your prettiest gown.
Forget about Jack for a while, my dear,
His lordship has just come to town.

He's come here to get him a wife, my dear,
And you have been put up for sale
With a marvellous income for life, my dear,
To balance your side of the scale.

His lordship is feeble and old, my dear,--
What odds? All the sooner he'll die.
And he has a sore need of your gold, my dear:
See the good you can do if you'll try.

And then a real lady you'll be, my dear,
Not only by nature but name;
Mamma'll be so proud,--you can see, my dear,
No one thinks it, as you do, a shame.

So bend your proud head. Are you faint, my dear?
Keep the tears back, be buoyant and brave.
Keep that pose! Now a portrait we'll paint, my dear,
To be called "The American Slave."