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A Zouave.

A Zouave.

You're to the soldiers quite a flunkey

You're not so bad looking as some I know

You're all aflame with woman's rights

You're a sweet looking sailor boy, gallant and bold

You're a gay Zoovey Zoo, with that big beard of thine

You're a gay old Colonel, that's beyond a doubt

Your Wife's the Boss.

Your True Love.

Your Own Portrait.

Your Likeness.

The Young Mother.

The Young Flirt.

You ugly, cross and wrinkled shrew

You think yourself both bold and brave, of course

You think your style is just the thing

You talk so much of what you'll do

You stingy, shrivel'd, wrinkled, close-skin'd skin-flint

You sneaking, mean, soulless knave

You Puppy.

You may swagger and blow, but people all know

You may sing psalms with sanctimonious face

You love the contrabands too much

You go in for the largest liberty

You fat old cuss, give us your grub

You doubtless think that prudence is a virtue

You don't look handsome in your regimentals

You dashing, dressy Bar-keeper, for a dandy you would pass

You belong to the Sappers and Miners, `tis said

You are my Valentine.

You are my Darling.

You and Your Beau.

The Wounded Soldier.

Would-Be Woman.

Would-Be Hero.

Worldly Evils.

Woman's Rights.

Woman's Rights.

With the most ugly of all faces, Go on, and mimic all the graces

Windy Day.

Windy Day.

A Wife for Old Nick.

The Widower.

A Widow.

The Widow.

Who'll Have Me.

Who are you, rampaging stranger

When first you came before my eyes

When ancient damsels take to ice

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