At ten o'clock your maid awakes you;
You breakfast when she's done your hair;
At twelve the groom arrives and takes you
In Rotten Row to breathe the air.
From twelve to one you ride with vigor;
Your horse how gracefully you sit;
Your habit, too, shows off your figure,
As all your cavaliers admit.
One other habit I could mention —
I hope your feelings won't be hurt,
But you receive so much attention,
I sometimes fancy you're a flirt.
Of course you're not annoyed, I merely would indite
Your life as you lead it by day and night.
At two you've lunch; at three it's over,
And visitors in shoals arrive;
Admirers many, perhaps a lover —
Your next event is tea at five.
At six o'clock you go out driving
From Grosvenor to Albert Gate,
To occupy yourself contriving
Till dinner time comes round at eight.
Each hour as now the night advances
Some fresh attraction with it brings;
A concert followed by some dances —
The opera, if Patti sings.
At twelve you waltz; at one you've leisure
To try some chicken and champagne;
At two you do yourself the pleasure
Of starting off to waltz again.
At three your partners hate each other —
You scarcely know which loves you best;
Emotion you have none to smother,
But lightly with them all you jest.
At four your chaperon gives warning
That it is really time to go;
You wish good night, and say next morning
At twelve you'll meet them in the Row.
My darling, you're so very pretty,
I've often thought, upon my life,
That it would be a downright pity
To look upon you as a wife.
I don't think your ideas of marriage
With those of many would accord,
The opera, horses, and a carriage,
Are things so few men can afford.
And then you need so much devotion —
To furnish it who would not try?
But each would find it, I've a notion,
Too much for one man to supply.
Of course you're not annoyed, I merely would indite
Your life as you lead it by day and night.