Mr. Woolin-Wister

Mr Woolin-Wister was assistant at the store,
He had an air of breeding, and the kind of clothes he wore
Were very, very natty and exceedingly correct;
For every single day he was habitually decked
In the very latest fashion; and he had a roving eye
That wakened many a smile demure and many a gentle sigh.
For, whenever he sought to "twit" them, then the ladies straight began:
"Now, Mr Woolin-Wister!  Oo, you are a naughty man!"

He wore a wide straw-decker with a pretty colored band;
His pants -- the shepherd plaid ones -- were the tightest in the land,
He wore a braided coat, with vest -- in summer-time a sash --
And a set of heavy sideboards and a very large moustache;
His hair combed on his forehead in a very genteel "slick,"
He made just the perfect masher with his silver-headed stick,
And thro' the street, when he walked out, the female titters ran:
"There is Mr Woolin-Wister.  Oo, he is a saucy man!"

His linen is immaculate.  His broad stiff-bosomed shirt
Upheld a three-inch collar; and he was a fearful flirt.
For he flirted with the matrons and he flirted with the maids;
At conversation lollies he was boldest of the blades;
For the things he used to pass them at a soiree or a dance
Caused many a maiden blush to glow and many a downward glance;
Yet many a maiden giggled, as she peeped behind her fan:
"Fie, Mr Woolin-Wister!  Oo, you are a forward man!"

When last I saw the old town I went into the store,
And there was Mr Woolin-Wister -- still a bachelor.
His pate was bald, his eye was dull, his grey moustache was clipped,
And his general demeanor seemed considerably hipped.
Then a lady (rather elderly) came tripping in the shop,
And Mr Woolin-Wister let all other matters drop.
Then she gushed and then she giggled as the persiflage began:
"Now, Mr Woolin-Wister!  Oo, you are an awful man!"