In many a boudoir nowadays...

In many a boudoir nowadays

The baritone's decollete throat

Produces weird unearthly lays,

Like some dyspeptic goat

Deprived but lately of her young

( But not, alas! of either lung ).

His low-necked collar fails to show

The contours of his manly chest,

Since that has fallen far below

His “fancy evening vest.”

Here, too, in picturesque relief,

Nestles his crimson handkerchief.

Will no one tell me why he sings

Such doleful melancholy lays,

Of withered summers, ruined springs,

Of happier bygone days,

And kindred topics, more or less

Designed to harass or depress?

That ballad in his bloated hand

Is of the old familiar blend:—

A faded flow'r, a maiden, and

A “brave kiss” at the end!

( The kind of kiss that, for a bet,

A man might give a Suffragette. )