If on each foot he'd had a slipper
To Troukachevsky (who was saved)
The husband would have p'rhaps behaved
Much in the style of Jack the Ripper.
He put to flight the dilettante
(Who hadn't finished half the _andante_),
But feared the servants' mockings
Should they see him in his stockings,
Racing along the corridor:--
Not that he thought it horrid, or
Harsh to transfix him with a dagger,
(He could not bear the fiddler's swagger),
But felt quite sure so droll a figure
Would make his rude domestics snigger.
And now his wife cries out for mercy
(No more she wears that fetching jersey);
And all in vain she pity claims:
The dagger ruthlessly he aims,
And through the whale-bone of her corset
Tries unsuccessfully to force it.
At last he feels that he's succeeded,
A little more than p'rhaps was needed.
Ah, that by taking out the knife
He now could bring her back to life!
'Twas his habit, when he got into a pet,
Invariably to light a cigarette;
And, having killed his wife, he never spoke
One word until he'd had a quiet smoke.
When he saw that it was time, he called a p'liceman,
And exclaimed, "Oh, I have broken the Tsar's peace, man.
I've killed my wife!--I did it in a fury--
But I wish the matter brought before a jury.
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