Mrs. Benjamin PantierI know that he told that I snared his soulWith a snare which bled him to death.And all the men loved him,And most of the women pitied him.But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes,And loathe the smell of whiskey and onions,And the rhythm of Wordsworth’s “Ode” runs in your ears,While he goes about from morning till nightRepeating bits of that common thing;“Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?”And then, suppose;You are a woman well endowed,And the only man with whom the law and moralityPermit you to have the marital relationIs the very man that fills you with disgustEvery time you think of it while you think of itEvery time you see him?That’s why I drove him away from homeTo live with his dog in a dingy roomBack of his office.
I know that he told that I snared his soulWith a snare which bled him to death.And all the men loved him,And most of the women pitied him.But suppose you are really a lady, and have delicate tastes,And loathe the smell of whiskey and onions,And the rhythm of Wordsworth’s “Ode” runs in your ears,While he goes about from morning till nightRepeating bits of that common thing;“Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?”And then, suppose;You are a woman well endowed,And the only man with whom the law and moralityPermit you to have the marital relationIs the very man that fills you with disgustEvery time you think of it while you think of itEvery time you see him?That’s why I drove him away from homeTo live with his dog in a dingy roomBack of his office.