MISS FANNY’S FAREWELL FLOWERS.

Not “the posie of a ring.” Shakespeare (all but the not).

CAME to town a happy man: I need not now dissemble Why I return so sad at heart— It’s all through Fanny Kemble: Oh! when she threw her flowers away, What urged the tragic slut on To weave in such a wreath as that, Ah me! a bachelor’s button. None fought so hard, none fought so well, As I to gain some token— When all the pit rose up in arms, And heads and hearts were broken; “Huzza!” said I, “I’ll have a flower As sure as my name’s Dutton;”— I made a snatch—I got a catch— By Jove! a bachelor’s button! I’ve lost my watch—my hat is smashed— My clothes declare the racket; I went there in a full dress coat, And came home in a jacket. My nose is swell’d—my eye is black— My lip I’ve got a cut on! Odds buds!—and what a bud to get— The deuce! a bachelor’s button! My chest’s in pain; I really fear I’ve somewhat hurt my bellows, By pokes and punches in the ribs From those herb-strewing fellows. I miss two teeth in my front row; My corn has had a fut on; And all this pain I’ve had to gain This cursed bachelor’s button. Had I but won a rose—a bud— A pansy—or a daisy— A periwinkle—anything— But this—it drives me crazy! My very sherry tastes like squills, I can’t enjoy my mutton; And when I sleep I dream of it— Still—still——a bachelor’s button My place is book’d per coach to-night, But oh, my spirit trembles To think how country friends will ask Of Knowleses and of Kembles. If they should breathe about the wreath, When I go back to Sutton, I shall not dare to show my share, That all!—a bachelor’s button! My luck in life was never good, But this my fate will burden: I ne’er shall like my farming more,— I know I shan’t the Garden. The turnips all may have the fly, The wheat may have the smut on, I care not,—I’ve a blight at heart,— Ah me!—a bachelor’s button!