For    my  eyes  with  the  tears  of  love

are  dim ;
And   ray  cap  of   sorrow  is    filled   to

the  brim —
For  a  creature  like  that.
O  mothers  !  whose  love  is  such  bliss
While  the  baby  lies  soft  on  your  knee.
With  each  fond  word,  and  each  rap-
turous kiss.
Ye   are  sowing   the  seeds  of  a  grief

like  this
Which  has  come  to  me.
FATHER-IN-LAW

Never  mind  what  your  mother  may  say  :
She  was  always  hard  on  the  girls :
Your  virtuous  women  have  all  a  way
Of  saying  the  bitterest  things  they  may
About  them  and  their  curls.
It  is  different,  now,  with  a  man  :
The  better  he  is,  I  think.
He'll  speak  of  young  fellows  the  best

that  he  can.
Though  the  rogues  may  be  learning  to

curse  and  ban.
And  play,  too,  and  drink.
Well ;  that  never  struck  me  until

I  said  it,  and  yet  it  is  true ;

Good  men   could   not  do  what  your

good  women  will.
And  they  call  it  a  duty  they  have  to  fulfil
In  pure  love  to  you.
I  am  not  good,  myself,  as  you  know,

And  I  never  pretended  to  be ;

And  I've  sometimes   thought  I  was

happier  so
Than  to  purse  up  my  mouth,  and  look

glum  as  I  go
At  the  things  that  I  see.
But  your  mother  is  virtuous,  lad ;
Whatever  she  is,  she  is  that ;
A  virtuous  woman,  for  good  or  bad,
And  she's  fretting   her    soul,  till  it's

really  sad.
At  this  wooing  you're  at.
She  won't  let  me  rest  till  I  speak
My  mind  on't,  and  here's  what  I  say  :
Maybe  her  reasons  are  poor  and  weak.
And  she's  hot  and  hysteric,   and  not

very  meek  ;
But  she'll  have  her  own  way.
