A Few Figs From Thistles: She Is Overheard Singing

She Is Overheard Singing

Oh, Prue she has a patient man,
  And Joan a gentle lover,
And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth,--
  But my true love's a rover!
Mig, her man's as good as cheese
  And honest as a briar,
Sue tells her love what he's thinking of,--
  But my dear lad's a liar!
Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha
  Are thick with Mig and Joan!
They bite their threads and shake their heads
  And gnaw my name like a bone;
And Prue says, "Mine's a patient man,
  As never snaps me up,"
And Agatha, "Arth' is a hug-the-hearth,
  Could live content in a cup;"
Sue's man's mind is like good jell--
  All one colour, and clear --
And Mig's no call to think at all
  What's to come next year,
While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad,
  That's troubled with that and this;--
But they all would give the life they live
  For a look from the man I kiss!
Cold he slants his eyes about,
  And few enough's his choice,--
Though he'd slip me clean for a nun, or a queen,
  Or a beggar with knots in her voice,--
And Agatha will turn awake
  While her good man sleeps sound,
And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue
  Will hear the clock strike round,
For Prue she has a patient man,
  As asks not when or why,
And Mig and Sue have naught to do
  But peep who's passing by,
Joan is paired with a putterer
  That bastes and tastes and salts,
And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth,--
  But my true love is false!

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