"They want to lead an easy life,
And have good weeds and wine.
Without these luxuries, a wife
They scornfully decline.
For _Benedick's_ life of manly strife
The fops are far too fine."

"The Season's come," the Tater said,
"To write of many things:
Of frocks--and socks--and needle-work--
And babes--and bonnet-strings;
But all the lot talk utter rot.
Let the fools have their flings!

"Their jibes at girls, their games, their curls,
Their wastefulness, their waist,
Their yearnings to hook Dukes and Earls,
Their matrimonial haste,
Are the crude chat of cubs and churls,
And in the vilest taste.

"But when they prate of you and me,
As the two gifts _they_ want,
Say Classic lore and Cookery
Are things for which _they_ pant;
Believe me, my dear Heptarchy,
They plumb profoundest Cant!"

* * * * *