Being a reply to "M. C. D.," who advertised in a Swansea Newspaper for
a wife, 1856.
Deputed by some lady friends,
Who think, with me, when ought offends,
'Tis best to have it out at once,
Not nurse your wrath like moping dunce,
I venture forth--(now don't be hard,
And sneer, "Dear me, a female bard!"
I'm not the only Bard that's seen
Inditing verse in crinoline. (_a_)
I say--deputed by a few
Young ladies: 'tis no matter who:
I come--(of vict'ry little chance)--
With "M. C. D." to break a lance;
To intimate our great surprise
To hear ourselves called--merchandise,
To be obtained--(there's no disguising
The fact)--obtained by advertising!
Obtained for better or for worse,
Just like a pony, pig, or horse.
And now, Sir, Mister "M. C. D.,"
Pray, tell us, whomso'er you be,
D'ye think a lady's heart you'll gain
By such a process? O how vain!
(_a_) These monstrosities--I mean the _balloons_, not the bards--are
now out of date--thank goodness!
With us, we hold in blank disgrace
The man who fears to show his face.
A tim'rous heart we all despise:
But we adore the flashing eyes,
The manly form--the lofty hand;
The soul created to command.
Love comes to us, no bidden guest,
For him who loves and rules us best.
The rosy god lights not his taper
For him who, in a trading paper,
Behind a printed notice screens,
And fears to tell us what he means.
Why don't he to the busy marts
Come forth and seige our tender hearts?
'Tis wrong to buy pigs in a poke:
To wed so--what a silly joke!
In promenade, church, or bazaar,
At proper moments, there we are,
To be secured by manly hearts,
And, when secured, to do our parts
To temper life with him we love,
And woman's fondest instincts prove;
To yield submission to his will,
And, faulty though, to love him still.
Then "M. C. D." I pray refrain:
By means like these no wife you'll gain:
If you've no manlier mode to try,
We'll single live, and single die.