Happy Valentine's Day!

These marvelous Victorian poems about the quarrels of an old married pair will appear in the "Sweethearts, Old and New" section of my upcoming book,
True Ladies and Proper Gentlemen.
Enjoy!

Betsey And I Are Out
By Will M. Carleton

Draw up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout;

For things at home are cross-ways, and Betsey and I are out.

We who have worked together so long as man and wife,

Must pull in single harness the rest of our nat'ral life.

"What is the matter?" say you.  I vow!  It's hard to tell:

Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well.;

I have no other woman - she has no other man,

Only we've lived together as long as ever we can.

So I've talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me;

And we've agreed together that we can't never agree;

Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime;

We've been a gatherin' this for years, a little at a time.

There was a stock of temper we both had for a start;

Although we ne'er suspected 'twould take us two apart.

I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone,

And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own.

The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed,

Was somethin' concerning heaven - a difference in our creed.

We arg'ed the thing at breakfast - we arg'ed the thing at tea -

And the more we arg'ed the question, the more we didn't agree.

And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow;

She kicked the bucket, certain - the question was only - How?

I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had;

And when we were done a talkin', we both of us was mad.

And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;

But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.

And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl;

And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.

And so that bowl kept pouring dissentions in our cup;

And so that blasted cow-critter was always comin' up;

And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got;

But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.

And so the thing kept workin' and all the self-same way;

Always somethin' to arg'e, and somethin' sharp to say.

And down on us come the neighbors, a couple dozen strong,

And lent their kindest service for to help the thing along.

And there has been days together - and many a weary week,

We was both of us cross and spunky, and both too proud to speak,

And I have been thinkin' and thinkin' the whole of the winter and fall,

If I can't live kind with a woman, why, then I won't at all.

And so I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,

And we've agreed together that we can't never agree;

And what is hers shall be hers, and what is mine shall be mine;

And I'll put it in the agreement, and take it to her to sign.

Write on the paper, lawyer - the very first paragraph-

Of all the farm and live stock, that she shall have her half;

For she has helped to earn it, through many a dreary day,

And it's nothing more than justice that Betsey has her pay.

Give her the house and homestead; a man can thrive and roam,

But women are skeery critters, unless they have a home.

And I always have determined, and never failed to say,

That Betsey should never want a home, if I was taken away.

There's a little hard money that's drawin' tol'rable pay;

A couple hundred of dollars laid by for a rainy day;

Safe in the hands of good men, and easy to get at;

Put in another clause, and give her half of that;

Yes, I see you smile sir, at my givin' her so much;

Yes, divorce is cheap, sir, but I take no stock in such.

True and fair I married her, when she was blithe and young;

And Betsey was al'ays good to me, except with her tongue.

Once, when I was young as you, and not so smart, perhaps,

For me she mittened a lawyer, and several other chaps;

And all of 'em was flustered and fairly taken down,

And I for a time was counted the luckiest man in town.

Once, when I had a fever - I won't forget it soon -

I was hot as a basted turkey and crazy as a loon -

Never an hour went by when she was out of sight;

She nursed me true and tender, and stuck to me day and night.

And if ever a house was tidy, and ever a kitchen clean,

Her house and kitchen was as tidy as any I ever seen;

And I don't complain of Betsey or any of her acts,

Exceptin' when we've quarrelled and told each other facts.

So draw up the paper, lawyer; and I'll go home to-night,

And read the agreement to her and see if it's all right.

And then in the mornin' I'll sell to a tradin' man I know-

And kiss the child that was left to us, and out in the world I'll go.

And one thing put in the paper, that first to me didn't occur-

That when I'm dead at last, she shall bring me back to her;

And lay me under the maples I planted years ago,

When she and I was happy, before we quarrelled so.


And when she dies, I wish that she would be laid by me;

And lyin' together in silence, perhaps we will agree;

And if ever we meet in heaven, I wouldn't think it queer

If we loved each other the better because we quarrelled here.

***

How Betsey And I Made Up

Give us your hand, Mr. Lawyer; how do you do today?

You drew up that paper - I suppose you want your pay.

Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or V;

For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.

Goin' home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,

Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;

And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,

They'd tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.

No - for I was laborin' under a heavy load;

No - for I was travelin' an entirely different road;

For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,

And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have been.

And many a corner we've turned that just to quarrel led,

When I ought to've held my temper, and driven straight ahead;

And the more I thought it over the more these memories came,

And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.

And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,

Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind;

And those things flashed all through me, as you know things sometimes will

When a feller's alone in the darkeness, and everything is still.

"But," says I, "we're too far along to take another track,

And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back;

And tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two;"

And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I see it through.

When I come in sight of the house 'twas some'at in the night,

And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen light;

Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes,

But it don't interest a feller that's goin' to pull up stakes.

And when I went in the house, the table was set for me-

As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see;

And I crammed the agreement down my pocket as well as I could,

And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.

And Betsey, she pretended to look about the house,

But she watched my side coat-pocket like a cat would watch a mouse;

And then she went to foolin' a little with a cup,

And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.

And when I'd done my supper, I drawed the agreement out,

And give it her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas about;

And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note

Was busted by some animal that hopped up in my throat.

Then Betsey, she got her specs from off the mantel-shelf,

Then read the article over quite softly to herself;

Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,

And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold.

And after she'd read a little, she gave my arm a touch,

And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;

But when she was through she went for me, her face a-streamin' with tears,

And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years!

I don't know what you'll think, Sir - I didn't come to inquire-

But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire;

And I told her how we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow;

And we struck an agreement to never have another row.

And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash

If half the crockery in the house was broekn all to smash;

And she said, in regards to heaven, we'd learn to try its worth

By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.

And so we sat a'talkin' three-quarters of the night,

And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light;

And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many men

Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.

Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,

Her lamp all trimmed and a burnin' to kindle another fuss;

But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,

My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors.

Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;

But we've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do;

When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh,

And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than half.

Maybe you'll think me soft, Sir, a-talkin' in this style,

But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;

And I do it for a compliment - 'tis so that you can see

That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin' of me.

So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer; don't stop short of an X;

Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks.

I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,

For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in gold.

These poems and other nineteenth-century writings about relationships will appear in my upcoming book, 
True Ladies and Proper Gentlemen 
—now available for pre-order from 
Barnes and Noble and Amazon!