YOU CAN'T ALWAYS TELL.
You may think that she loves you sincerely— Indeed, that she doats npon you, ' And that sho's opposed to all flirting— A maiden kind, faithful, and true; But really and^truely the chance ia She flirts off with some other swell, t And laughs at you when yon are absent: The fact is, you can't always tell. You may think that her figure, so sylph-like Is Nature's own work; but beware.' For Art may be made to aid Nature In forming those outlines so lair. You may think that those tresses so glossy, Which give her the grace of a belle, Are hers, but you may be mistaken. The fact is, you can't always tell, You may think that the glow on her cheek, is The hue that Dame Nature bestows, But don't bo too sure: the pink saocer May furnish the pink of the rose. Tho creamy complexion and eyebrows Of jet that hecome her so well Tho powder and pencil may furnish. The fact is, you can't always tell. You may think that her temper's angelic— So amiable, gentle, and kind; But hear her just speak to her mother Before you quite make np your mind. Perhaps she'll say, "Yes, ma'am, I'mcomine," Or, " Wait till I'm ready," she'll yell, She may be an angel or vixen: The fact is, you really can't tell.
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Thames Star, Volume XIV, Issue 4550, 4 August 1883, Page 1
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228YOU CAN'T ALWAYS TELL. Thames Star, Volume XIV, Issue 4550, 4 August 1883, Page 1
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