MY dolly is a dreadful care,—
Her name is Miss Amandy;
I dress her up and curl her hair,
And feed her taffy candy.
Yet, heedless of the pleading voice
Of her devoted mother,
She will not wed her mother's choice,
But says she'll wed another.
I'd have her wed the china vase,—
There is no Dresden rarer;
You might go searching every place
And never find a fairer.
He is a gentle, pinkish youth,—
Of that there's no denying;
Yet when I speak of him, forsooth!
Amandy falls to crying.
She loves the drum,— that's very plain,—
And scorns the vase so clever,
And, weeping, vows she will remain
A spinster doll forever!
The protestations of the drum
I am convinced are hollow;
When once distressing times should come
How soon would ruin follow!
Yet all in vain the Dresden boy
From yonder mantel woos her;
A mania for that vulgar toy,
The noisy drum, imbues her.
In vain I wheel her to and fro,
And reason with her mildly:
Her waxen tears in torrents flow,
Her sawdust heart beats wildly.
I'm sure that when I'm big and tall,
And wear long trailing dresses,
I sha'n' t encourage beaux at all
Till mamma acquiesces;
Our choice will be a suitor then
As pretty as this vase is,—
Oh, how we'll hate the noisy men
With whiskers on their faces!