The Disturber
Oh, what shall I do? I am wholly upset;I am sure I ‘ll be jailed for a lunatic yet.I ‘ll be out of a job—it’s the thing to expectWhen I ‘m letting my duty go by with neglect.You may judge the extent and degree of my plightWhen I ‘m thinking all day and a-dreaming all night,And a-trying my hand at a rhyme on the sly,All on account of a sparkling eye.
There are those who say men should be strong, well-a-day!But what constitutes strength in a man? Who shall say?I am strong as the most when it comes to the arm.I have aye held my own on the playground or farm.And when I ‘ve been tempted, I haven’t been weak;But now—why, I tremble to hear a maid speak.I used to be bold, but now I ‘ve grown shy,And all on account of a sparkling eye.
There once was a time when my heart was devout,But now my religion is open to doubt.When parson is earnestly preaching of grace,My fancy is busy with drawing a face,Thro’ the back of a bonnet most piously plain;‘I draw it, redraw it, and draw it again.’While the songs and the sermon unheeded go by,—All on account of a sparkling eye.
Oh, dear little conjurer, give o’er your wiles,It is easy for you, you’re all blushes and smiles:But, love of my heart, I am sorely perplexed;I am smiling one minute and sighing the next;And if it goes on, I ‘ll drop hackle and flail,And go to the parson and tell him my tale.I warrant he ‘ll find me a cure for the sighThat you ‘re aye bringing forth with the glance of your eye.