Ideal And Aftermath

I wed him because he looked nice (said she) And I feared to be left on the shelf. For I wouldn't take mother's advice (said she), So I've no one to blame but myself. My friends always said that he had a flat head And a curious cranial kink; But I feel 'neath the spell of his lovely marcel . . . Now he's bald, and he's taken to drink. I wed him because he looked slim (said she) And athletic and noble and brave. I thought there was no one like him (said she), For he really knew how to behave. Now he's humble and meek, and, whenever I speak, He cringes and crawls like a tyke. Tho' bay-windowed in front, he's the soul of a runt; And I bully him just as I like. I wed him because he looked sweet (said she), Of manhood my very ideal. I thought that my bliss was complete (said she): I could hardly believe he was real. But he's real right enough; tho' not quite of the stuff I'd imagined the day I said 'Yes'; But I hardly mind that, tho' he's bald and he's fat And slovenly, too, in his dress. I wed him for better or worse (said she) When with love I was slightly insane. But there's ne'er a regret that I nurse (said she), For I've really small cause to complain. For I'm fifty and fat, and my arches are flat, And I grumble and fidget and fuss. Yet he thought me, he said a dream child when we wed. So it's just fifty-fifty with us.