"My boy," he said, in tone consoling,
"Give up this idle fancy--do--
The song you heard my daughter trolling
Did not, indeed, refer to you.

"I feel for you, poor boy, acutely;
I would not wish to give you pain;
Your pangs I estimate minutely,--
I, too, have loved, and loved in vain.

"But still your humble rank and station
For MINNIE surely are not meet"--
He said much more in conversation
Which it were needless to repeat.

Now I'm prepared to bet a guinea,
Were this a mere dramatic case,
The page would have eloped with MINNIE,
But, no--he only left his place.

The simple Truth is my detective,
With me Sensation can't abide;
The Likely beats the mere Effective,
And Nature is my only guide.



Ballad: Pasha Bailey Ben