Classic Poem

When G—le has her mind at ease,
Her only study is to please;
You cannot find in all the nation
Her parallel for conversation.
And be the subject which it will,
With pleasure you can hear her still.
Nay, though she should employ her wit
Against you, you are fond of it,
And like it more, the more that she
Eclipses yours by repartee.
But if one grievance comes athwart her,
No nettles sting or touch you smarter.
Her passion void of all restriction
To plainest truths gives contradiction.
She nods her head, begins to pout
And throws her arms three yards about;
Prepared each word you say to scan,
Spreads out her fingers like a fan;
Taunting, teasing, fretting, quarr'ling,
Like monkey sick or lily snarling.
But when her storm of anger's over,
Again you're reconciled and love her;
Thus as she's better, as she's worse,
She is a blessing or a curse.