TO A DRESSMAKER.

Oh! wherefore bid me leave thy side,

Dear Polly? I would ask.

How can I all my feelings cloak

When in thy smiles I basque?

Nay, " Polly-nay," I cannot go!

Oh! do not stand aloof,

When of my warm affection

You possess, oh, wat-er-proof!

Why will you thus my feelings gore

By sending me away?

You know it's wrong, of corset is,

Thus to forbid my stay.

It seams as though some fell disease

Was gnawing at my heart,

And hem-orrhage would soon ensue

If we, perchance, should part.

Then waist the precious time no more,

But let the parson tie us

Sew firmly that the marriage-knot

Shall never be cut bias.

In peaceful quietude we'll float

On life's unruffled tide,

Nor let the bustle of the world

" Pull-back" as on we glide.