Meanwhile the Vestry Vultures gorge their fill,
And I am warned--by friends--"_Don't put their backs up!_"
_Their_ backs! And we sing "_Rule Britannia_" still!!
Will _no one_ chaw these fine official Jacks up?
* * * * *
THE KREUTZER SONATA.
One _Pozdnisheff_ by name
Played the matrimonial game;
Pleased by a little curl,
Which round his heart did twirl,
And taken by a jersey
(Exported from the Mersey);
He felt, poor man, half-witted
When he saw how well it fitted!
The mother, with her jersey-clad young daughter,
Asked the lover to a party on the water.
Soft things he now could say
To the maiden all the way,
Till she caught him--who imagined he had caught her!
Now there came a young musician, _Troukachevsky_,
Who, at Petersburg, resided on the Nevsky;
And to play with him the flighty wife was fated
In the famed duet to KREUTZEE dedicated.
The husband who perceived things were not right,
Home suddenly returned at dead of night.
His boots he'd taken off;
He was careful not to cough;
And his plans so well were woven,
That they still performed Beethoven.
But, neither being deaf,
They at last heard _Pozdnisheff_.
Poor wife! He so affrights her,
That she plays no more the _Kreutzer_.
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