Still, I can forgive you that;
Though the thing look ne'er so silly;
I will overlook the hat
If you promise this, Myrtillie:

Wear your lacebelows and fluffs;
Wear the awfullest creations--
But--omit the stylish puffs
And the vogueish transformations.

Myrt, if you inflate your hair
I shall--well--excoriate you,
And, I positively swear,
Loathe, despise, detest, and hate you.



Love Gustatory


Myrtilla, I have seen you eat--
Have heard you drink, to be precise--
Your soup, and, notwithstanding, sweet,
The gurgitation wasn't nice,
I overlooked a tiny fault
Like that with just a grain of salt.

And, sweetest maid in all New York,
When all ungracefully you pierce