>ALFRED
>Pooh!
>Pray would you have had her dress always in black,
>And shut herself up in a convent, dear Jack?
>Besides, 'twas my fault the engagement was broken.
>JOHN.
>Most likely. How was it?
>ALFRED.
>The tale is soon spoken.
>She bored me. I show'd it. She saw it. What next?
>She reproach'd. I retorted. Of course she was vex'd.
>I was vex'd that she was so. She sulk'd. So did I.
>If I ask'd her to sing, she look'd ready to cry.
>I was contrite, submissive. She soften'd. I harden'd.
>At noon I was banish'd. At eve I was pardon'd.
>She said I had no heart. I said she had no reason.
>I swore she talk'd nonsense. She sobb'd I talk'd treason.
>In short, my dear fellow, 'twas time, as you see,
>Things should come to a crisis, and finish. 'Twas she
>By whom to that crisis the matter was brought.
>She released me. I linger'd. I linger'd, she thought,
>With too sullen an aspect. This gave me, of course,
>The occasion to fly in a rage, mount my horse,
>And declare myself uncomprehended. And so
>We parted. The rest of the story you know.
From Owen Meredith's "Lucile".