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THE ARM‐CHAIR
- “I AM gouty,” said the arm‐chair
- To the mantelpiece and fender,
- “You would scarce perhaps believe it,
- But my left foot is quite tender!
- “At our fancy ball last midnight
- I could hardly step the lancers,
- But the ladies were so pressing—
- They’d not take my ‘Noes’ for answers!
- “There was little round Miss Table,
- As charming as she’s pretty;
- And the lovely Lady Fire Screen,—
- To refuse her what a pity!
- “Then my dear friend, Sophy Cushion,
- In her graceful frills and flounces;
- Oh what turns we’ve had together,
- Though the spiteful say she bounces!
- “But my dancing days are over,
- All my days of fun and chatter;
- I must be content to sit here
- And discuss more solid matter.”
- Here the mantelpiece and fender,
- By the fireside (as their choice is),
- In the praise of quiet converse,
- To console him raised their voices.
