As I was going to St. Ives….
The perils of polygamy (in rhyme)
As I was going to St. Ives
I met a man with seven wives,
I said to him ‘You’re lucky, mate”
To which he stopped to set me straight:
“You think I’ve got Quixote’s knack?
You seem to think I’m Daddy Mac
But know this, friend and know it well
That seven wives is living Hell”
“Forget your thoughts of sexual heaven,
More like drama, times by seven,
Different wives to put me right,
To question where I’ve been tonight”
“It’s seven times the shopping trips
And seven times the nagging quips,
It’s daily chores and on all fours
But not for sex, for laying floors”
“It’s seven times the social saga
Just to earn a fucking lager,
Just to take my time and sit
Without a wife demanding shit”
“These harpies, they’re clued-up of course,
They won’t accept a fair divorce,
They’d rather plague and trigger me
And punish my polygamy.”
