The Comic Reciter (1856, Glasgow)/Love Sick Willy

LOVE SICK WILLY.

One Willy Wright who kept a store,
But nothing kept therein,
Save earthen jugs, and some few kegs
Of whisky, ale, and gin—

Grew sick, and often would exclaim,
"O how my poor heart burns!"
And every week the poor man lived,
He had a weakly turn.

Now, when they saw him thus decline,
Some said that death must come;
Some wondered what the ail could be,
Some said his ail was rum!

At last the very cause was known
Of every pang he felt;
Remote, at one end of the town,
Miss Martha Townsend dwelt.

A portly, love-resisting dame,
Contemptuous, proud, and haughty;
But yet, tho' "fat, and forty," too,
She was not two-and-forty.

And Willy long had sought and sighed,
To gain this pretty maid;
"I have no trade," said he, "so, sure,
My love can't be betrayed."

To Martha, then, he trembling went,
And said, "My dear, 'tis true,
Though I have nothing in my store,
I've love in store for you.

"And if thou wilt, thou may'st become—"
But here his tongue was tied;
And then she bridled up, and said,
She ne'er would be his bride.

Then, turning Willie out of doors,
She said, "Go, go along;
I hate the man who's always Wright,
Yet always doing wrong."

"I leave you, then," said he: "farewell!
of peace I'm now bereft;
If I an always right and wrong,
You must be right—and left."

So then he closed his little store,
Shut up his door and blind;
And settled his accounts, and died,
M.And left no Will behind.