Classic Poem

Come into dinner squalls the dame,
You need it now perhaps;
But hear the husband's loud exclaim,
I do not like your snaps;
'Tis snaps when at your breakfast meal,
And snaps when at your spinning wheel,
Too many by a devilish deal,
For all your words are snaps.

Why do you tarry, tell me why?
The chamber door she taps,
Eat by yourself, my dear, for I
Am surfeited with snaps;
For if I cough it is the cry,
You always snap at supper time,
I'd rather lave in vats of lime,
Than face you with your snaps.

How gladly would I be a book,
To your long pocket flaps,
That you my face may read and look,
And learn the worth of snaps;
I'm sorry that I learning lack,
To turn you to an almanac;
Next year I'll hang you on the rack,
And end the date of snaps.