My lips on love have ne'er been fed,
With poverty I cannot battle.
My choice is made--I know I'm right--
Who wed for love starvation suffer;
So I will study day and night
To please and win a rich OLD BUFFER.

Romance is very fine, I own;
Reality is vastly better;
I'm twenty--past--romance is flown--
To Cupid I'm no longer debtor.
Wealth, power, and rank--I ask no more--
Let the world frown, with these I'll rough her--
Give me an equipage and four,
Blood bays, a page, and--rich OLD BUFFER.

An opera-box shall be my court,
Myself the sovereign of the women;
There moustached loungers shall resort,
Whilst Elssler o'er the stage is skimming.
If any rival dare dispute
The palm of _ton_, my set shall huff her;
I'll reign supreme, make envy mute,
When once I wed a rich OLD BUFFFER!

"The heart"--"the feelings"--pshaw! for nought
_They_ go, I grant, though quite enchanting
In valentines by school-girls wrought:
Nonsense! by me they are not wanting.
A note! and, as I live, a ring!