A. Pope to Date

A. Pope to Date.
234.1

Weary of gauds, disgusted with the shows,
We turn from riot, “bubbles,” rouge and beaux,
Smile as we leave the garish social whirl,
Omit to smoke, play bridge, besmirch, or curl;
Eschew the scandals of our well-bred strife,
And snatch Arcadia in the Simple Life.
Henceforth no silks enhance our decollete,
Since priceless lingerie looks well that way;
And, snowy necks and arms, exposed to tan,
Though not the exquisite, entice the man.
In rustic camps at several thou. an acre,
We’ll dwell in logs, as quaint as any Quaker,
And dally by the artificial lake
Which cost papa a million plunks to make.
All day we’ll ply the housewife’s homely trade
Work that degrades when done for us, and paid;
Remote aloof from all the wiles of men,
We still may be discovered in the glen,
And, once discovered, he that called us
Miss May court us as a milkmaid, with a kiss.
Rather than coquette with a Duke in vain
Give us the ardors of some bolder swain-
And, best of all, our husbands, simple, too,
May simply love us as they used to do.
T. C. Jr.