When hearts are trumps Part 10

"Sweete maide," ye lovesicke youthe remarked, "Thou'rt fickle as my star!

By far ye worste I ever sparked, You are! You really are!

Albeit yt my brains are nil, I'm gallante as can be; I'lle be to you whate'er you wille, If you'lle be more to me."

"Faire youthe," ye maide replied, "I do Not barter, as a rule, But I'lle be sister untoe you,-- Be you my Aprille foole."

A Rhyming Reverie.

It was a dainty lady's glove; A souvenir to rhyme with love.

It was the memory of a kiss, So called to make it rhyme with bliss.

There was a month at Mt. Desert, Synonymous and rhymes with flirt.

A pretty girl and lots of style, Which rhymes with happy for a while.

There came a rival old and bold, To make him rhyme with gold and sold.

A broken heart there had to be.

Alas, the rhyme just fitted me.

A Sure Winner.

Oh, treat me not with cold disdain, My pretty maids of fashion; Look upon the hearts you've slain, And listen to my pa.s.sion.

Though I am not so peerly proud As men of higher station, So handsome that the madding crowd Collects in admiration;

And have, perhaps, too great a store Of sandy hair and freckles, I've mortgages and bonds galore, And muchly many shekels.

You yet may journey league or mile To wed, as you're aware.

Come, cease your longing for mere style, And take A. MILLIONNAIRE.

Tantalization.

She stands beneath the mistletoe As though she did not know it.

She looks quite unconcerned, you know, And pretty, yes,--but, blow it,

I have to turn and walk away; I'll have revenge anon.

She knows quite well, alack the day, That my wife is looking on.

His Usual Fate.

All one season Lost to reason, Breathing sea air By the beach, where Young hearts mingle, Love was playful All the day full.

We were single.

Now with mournful Looks and scornful Turns he too us; He is through us, Worried, harried.

Love is sighing; Love is dying.

We are married.

On Two Letters from Her.

I wrote her a letter. It took her quite two To answer it after she'd read it.

My letter contained what perhaps even you Have written,--at least, you have said it.

My letter contained the old tale of a heart That longed to be linked to another; And I told her to think on each separate part, And ask the advice of her mother.

She apparently did, for the very next mail Brought me a message of woe.

It took her two letters; they made me turn pale; For they were the letters "N" "O".

A Serenade--en Deux Langues.

Sous le maple, mort de night, Avec le lune beams shining through, Ecoutez-moi, mon hapless plight.

Je vous aime--qui lovez-vous?

Je plink les strings de mon guitar.

Il fait bien froid; J'am nervous, too.

Dites-moi, dites-moi ce que vous are?

Je vous aime; qui lovez-vous?

Tu es si belle, je veux vous wed.

Mon pere est riche--comme riche est you?

Bonne nuit, adieu; J'ai cold in head.

Je vous aime--qui lovez-vous.

When a Girl says "No."

When a girl says "Yes,"