Part 4 — THE SONG OF THE HUMBUGGED HUSBAND. PUNCH.
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She's not what fancy painted her— I'm sadly taken in: If some one else had won her, I Should not have cared a pin.
I thought that she was mild and good As maiden e'er could be; I wonder how she ever could Have so much humbugg'd me.
They cluster round and shake my hand— They tell me I am blest: My case they do not understand— I think that I know best.
They say she's fairest of the fair— They drive me mad and madder. What do they mean by it? I swear I only wish they had her.
'Tis true that she has lovely locks, That on her shoulders fall; What would they say to see the box In which she keeps them all? Her taper fingers, it is true, 'Twere difficult to match: What would they say if they but knew How terribly they scratch?