Or sherbet, as he shifts his scene.
"Strong as a horse!"--ah! there's the string
That snaps asunder--"to recruit."
He wanders, manufacturing
A Rift within his Lute.

And DULCINEA! What a life!
Adoring crowds, adornments rare
And many fain to call her wife,
And sue her smiles in Belgrave Square.
And yet her Fetch-and-carry swears
He heard her, while he pressed his suit,
Sigh, "Bored to desperation!"--there's
A Rift within that Lute.

What need more trivial ills to quote,
The freshly-furnished house that shines,
The coxcomb's fashionable coat,
Both brushed and polished "to the nines,"
Both yielding to some fatal flaw;
A crack; a fiend who plays the flute;
Both, both examples of the law
Of Rift within the Lute.

Whate'er the dulcet instrument
We favour, still the lilt will stop;
And with a gorgeous chalice blent
Oft lurks the tiny poisoned drop.
I'm not so spry myself to-night;
I'll try a dose of arrowroot.