CRUEL Cousin Kate, you ask me For a lyric or a lay. How tyrannical to task me, Cousin Kate, in such a way. Pardon me, I pray, and pity— (Oh, do anything but frown!) For I can't be wise or witty In an album out of town No, my Pegasus will canter Only here on civic stones; In the country I instanter Come to grief and broken bones. Be it mine to sing the city, Where I seek my mild renown;— But I can't be wise or witty In an album out of town. Small my power and small my will is Rural sympathies to win; Ludgate my sublimest hill is, And my fields are Lincoln's Inn All the Muses in committee, Pouring inspiration down, Cannot make me wise or witty In an album out of town. Lonaon life in many phases I describe for Cockney friends; Lead me out among the daisies And my versifying ends. I can favor with a ditty Jones, and Robinson, and Brown But I can't be wise or witty In an album out of town. Cousin, hear my supplication; Give me something else to do. Is there aught in all creation I would no attempt for you? Ask my life, my cruel Kitty: Bid me hang, or bid me drown; But I can't be wise or witty In an album out of town. |