I They looked so alike as they sat at their work, What a pity 'tis that one isn't a Turk!) The same glances and smiles, the same habits and arts, The same tastes, the same frocks, and (no doubt) the same hearts, The same irresistible cut in their jibs, The same little jokes, and the same little fibs— That I thought the best way to get out of my pain Was by—@3heads@1 for Maria, and @3woman@1 for Jane; For hang @3me@1 if it seemed it could matter a straw, Which dear became wife, and which sister-in-law. II But now, I will own, I feel rather inclined To suspect I've some reason to alter my mind; And the doubt in my breast daily grows a more strong one, That they're not @3quite@1 alike, and I've taken the wrong one. Jane is always so gentle, obliging, and cool; Never calls me a monster—not even a fool; All our little contentions, 'tis she makes them up, And she knows how much sugar to put in my cup:— Yes, I sometimes @3have@1 wished—Heav'n forgive me the flaw!— That my very dear wife was my sister-in-law. |