Algernon’s Prudence 1

‘I say’, said young Algernon of Duntly Halls.
‘I really am caught by the old Wherewithal’s.
My auntie is coming, to read me her will
and I imagine the plan is to wet a new quill;
she’s threatened before to strike through the part,
where it says that I’ve always been close to her heart
and it’s all the fault of her friend; Getty West,
who caught me inspecting her dear daughter’s breast!
I tried to explain to the dotty old boot
that I really did not intend further pursuit
but she banged her stick, screeching and - clearly enraged -
sent word to ‘The Times’ that we were engaged.
That’s why I sit here and seek your advice
for I’d rather be shot at or eaten by mice
than to enter a contract with Prudence Van Blitz
whom has two saving graces; both of them, tits!'

Now hold on there Algy, don’t get in a state
you’ve come to the right man and it’s not too late;
just give me a min to get my brain in form
and figure a way too get this contract torn
I’ve heard of young Prudence; who hasn’t, by Gad?
and you’re not the first to be labeled a cad.
I’m not suggesting, her virtue is slack
but it is – so it seems – under constant attack.
I seem to recall, it seems, numerous times,
that some other poor fellow has heard wedding chimes;
I heard of one chap, who – when very near matched –
became suddenly single and very Detached!
I remember quite clearly, that when pressures piled,
He mentioned a friendship with old Oscar Wilde
He went into some detail [and it must be said]
By the time that he’d finished; the wedding was dead!

'My recall is whirring and a picture’s now shown
Said young Algernon Duntly, expressing a groan.
If I’m not mistaken, it’s of Smythers, you speak
whom Prudence, so nearly had right up the creek.
His confession created a right royal stench.
They banned him to Paris; to mumble in French
and worse than this, if indeed, worse there can be;
is plagued by old ‘Poufters’ with names like Louis!
He no longer plays cricket and polo is out,
for his changing room choice is causing some doubt.
I think, I would rather be chained and depressed
With Prudence, the thick tart; at least she has breasts
Than to sit by the Seine drinking French wine and beer
And be targeted by every randy old queer
My life is ended; I tell you it’s done;
Unless Prudence has yearnings to become a nun!'