When I asked my dear Edwin to shave
I’d never a thought of denial;
He’d been such an absolute slave,
I put his devotion on trial.
But his eye threw a sinister dart,
His features grew dogged and grave ;
Still I hardly expected to part
When I asked him to shave.
He refused, and seemed eager to jest,
Till he saw my determined expression.
A moustache, he said, suited him best,
And helped in his budding profession.
‘ What! Like yours’ I replied with a sneer.
He smiled when my temper grew hot,
And when I indulged in a tear
He said, ‘ Certainly not.’
’Twas enough, and I said what I felt,
Indignant and adamant-hearted,
On some of his drawbacks I dwelt
He took up his hat and departed.
I waited and waited in vain.
Disconsolate, haggard and white,
I wrestled each day with my pain
Till Saturday night.
Then I wrote and confessed I was wrong,
My hand with emotion was shaking,
I prayed him to come before long
To the heart that was his and was breaking.
Three terrible hours did I wait ;
He came and my reason was saved.
Then I saw what had made him so late
My Edwin had shaved.