TWO STRINGS TO A BOW.

DEAR CLARA, ‘tis very distressing,
The terrible trouble I’m in!
I must tell you – ‘tis far past all guessing –
Yet I scarcely know how to begin!
Ah, CLARA! But do you remember
What you told me a few months ago,
When we flirted at Spa in September,
To have always two strings to my bow!

You knew CAPTAIN FULKE, of the Lancers,
And that exquisite ARTHUR PENRYCE,
They are both of them beautiful dancers,
And both are exceedingly nice!
If you ask me, my CLARA, the question,
Which I liked best, I really don’t know’
But I thought to adopt your suggestion,
They would both serve as strings for my bow!

I resolved to take both on probation!
CAPTAIN FULKE was rich, entre nous,
POOR ARTHUR was all expectation,
And as yet he had hardly a sou.
Still on each, when they chanced to be present,
My smiles I ne’er failed to bestow –
It was so delightfully pleasant
To have two such strings for my bow!

So I waited, my CLARA, expecting
To see which his love would declare –
It was painful to think, by rejecting,
I must drive, at least, one to despair!
‘Twas strange they both seemed undecided,
And, in fact it began to be slow –
Yet, CLARA, you know I provided,
As you told me, two strings to my bow!

But, CLARA, the wretches deceive me!
Last night they both bade me adieu!
I was fairly astonished, believe me,
And thought of your precepts and you!
Not a word did they mention of marriage,
To-morrow to India they go!
Ah! our darts are not safe from miscarriage
Though we do fit two strings to our bow!