But help not, though she call."
And so much, the impromptu doggerel of Merrythought, teasing Mistress Merrythought, when, having deserted him, she would come home again--
"Begone, begone, my juggy, my puggy,
Begone, my love, my dear!
The weather is warm,
'Twill do thee no harm
Thou canst not be lodged here."
How to perfection our W. C. Fields could play that part of Merrythought. In the "Knight of the Burning Pestle."
So bye and bye fall asleep in the big green chair and come dreams of springtime and zephyrs and lilacs and green pastures and awake cramped and sore but Madame has abandoned her seige for the nonce and my head is lighter. And up to call for my stiff-front shirt from the launderer, and to Kirkland House tonight to see John Gay there enacted his play "Three Hours After Marriage".