The Rubáiyát of a Bachelor

With lovely maids, each radiant afternoon,
And think, of all the thousands you behold,
That you can marry one – and only one!

UT, if the lip I kiss, the hand I press,
Upon the morrow seem to charm me less,
Ah well, am I not still a Bachelor,
And thus, entitled to – another Guess?

OME for the comforts of a club may sigh,
And some for a hermit's lonely life. Not I!
Give me a cozy hearthside, and a Girl
Always "at home" when I chance by!

ER cushioned chair a spot where I may curl
My weary form, and rest, beyond the whirl
Of madd'ning cares; to rise at half-past ten,
And call next night – upon another girl!

HY, if a man can thus, at ease, abide
Each evening by a different damsel's side,
Were't not a shame – were't not a shame, for him
To any one, forever to be tied?

ND so, the girls I've set my heart upon,
I've flattered, wooed a little – and anon,
Just as they thought to slip the fatal Noose
About my neck, behold – the Bird had flown!

OR this the argument that I submit —
Refute it, if you can, with all your wit!
That Luck in Love, for such as you and I,
Consists in safely keeping out of it!

…

HIS morn, I've quaffed at least a quart or more
Of water – yet am thirsty as before;
And that dark taste still lingers in the mouth
With which, last night, I reformation swore.

ET, when some Angel, with a saving drink
Of iced Nepenthe comes, I shall not shrink;
But, having drunk of it, shall feel again
As good and noble as before, I think.

ACH morn some fresh repentance brings, you say?
Yes – but where leaves the vows of Yesterday?
For I shall make and break them all, again,
When Time hath taken this Headache away.

HAT if my conscience seem an idle joke —
My good resolves all disappear in smoke?
This thought remains – and is it not enough? —
I do not wear the Matrimonial Yoke!

AY! There is no one waiting at the door,
Whene'er I wander in at half-past four,
No one to question, no one to accuse,
No one, my shocking frailty to deplore!

O one to greet me with her tear-stained eyes,
No one to doubt my quaint, fantastic lies,
No one my foolish looks to criticize —
Ah, but the knots, the KNOTS in marriage-ties!

H Friend, could you and I, somehow, conspire,
To grasp the Matrimonial Scheme entire,
Would we not shatter it to bits – and then,
Make of its bonds a rousing Funeral Pyre?

YSELF, when young, did eagerly frequent
The weddings of my friends on Bondage bent;
But evermore thanked Fate, when I escaped
Scot-free, by that same door wherein I went.

NTO the fatal compact, why not knowing,
I've seen them go, nor dream where they were going;
Then out again, with shouts of "Westward, ho!"
The bitter seeds of Alimony sowing!

H well, they say that, sometimes, side by side,
A cat and dog may peacefully abide.
Perhaps – perhaps. But that is only when
That cat and dog are not together tied!

FT, to some patient married man I turn,
The secret of his dumb content to learn,
But lip-to-ear, he mutters, "Fool, beware!
This is the path, whence there is no return!"

H, threats of Hell, and hopes of Paradise!
One thing is certain – when a Husband dies,
No wife shall greet him there with "Where's" or "Why's"
Nor mock with laughter his most subtle lies!

O matter whether up or down he goes,
He neither cares nor questions, I suppose;
Since Death can hold no bitterness for him,
Because – because – Oh well, he knows, HE KNOWS!