III.

I’ve said before, and won’t my words forsake, That “every woman is at heart a rake”; Perhaps, I may with greater justice say, Both man and woman dearly love to play. A curious problem to the world they give: Some live to play while others play to live; And this phenomenon is seen to-day, A whole profession given up to play. Men its attractions cannot well refuse, Their P’s neglect, but cultivate their cues; While ladies, who in Fortune’s favours bask, Make the pursuit of pleasure quite a task. For what with concerts, and “four o’clock tea,” With pictures that they “really ought to see,” With conversaziones, routs, and balls, And what so dear to women’s hearts, their “calls,” With flower shows, and riding in the “Row.” With dinners, drives, and all that’s “comme il faut,” Worn out, half dead, when Saturday arrives They meekly vow they’re tired of their lives, But wake on Monday morning free from pain, And vow they’re ready to begin again.