For‘ Mabel Brown’ I never cared ( My rightful name by birth ), But when the name of Smith I shared, I seemed to own the earth,
( I wrote it without‘ y’ or‘ e’ - Plain‘ Mrs. Jack Smith’ suited me. ) My happiest hour, as I look back On times of great content,
Was when folks called me‘ Mrs. Jack,’ Though‘ Mrs. Smith’ was meant. It was the pleasure of my life To hear them say:‘ That's Jack Smith's wife.’
One day I joined a club. They said That I must speak or write. So I did both. I wrote and read A speech one fateful night.
It made a hit, but proved, alack, A death blow to poor‘ Mrs. Jack.’ As‘ Mrs. Mabel Smith’ I'm known Throughout my town and State;
My heart feels widowed and alone; The case is intricate. Though darling Jack is mine, the same, I am divorced somehow in name.
Just‘ Mabel Smith’ I can endure; It leaves the world in doubt; But‘ Mrs.’ makes the marriage sure, Yet leaves the husband out.
It sounds like Reno, or the tomb, And always fills me full of gloom. They say the honours are all mine; Well, I would trade the pack
For one sweet year in which to shine Again as‘ Mrs. Jack.’ That gave to life a core, a pith, Not found by‘ Mrs. Mabel Smith.’
For one suggests the chosen mate, And all the joy love brings; And one suggests a delegate To federated things.
I'm built upon the old-time plan - I like to supplement a man. If on each point of glory's star My name shone like a pearl,
I'd feel a pleasure greater far In being‘ Jack Smith's girl.’ It is ridiculous, I know, But then, you see, I'm fashioned so.
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