Pick and Choose

Why, if, my lady, you could pick and choose
Through all the ages, from a thousand men,
From Danes and Arabs, Chinamen and Jews,
You would not find the perfect husband then.

Or if virginity could be renewed,
And you came freshly to the thousandth mate,
Sometimes pursuing, sometimes the pursued,
You still would query: Is he, then, my Fate?

There is upon this earth no perfect man;
I tell you this, my lady, with regret,
But such appears to be the Heavenly plan.
Nor has there been a perfect woman yet.

I grant that you are fair, as woman goes:
But time is still a ruthless charioteer.
Take Edward, with the lumps upon his nose,
Or John, if you can stand the smell of beer,

Or Dan, if all you really like is cars,
Or Joseph, who’s shortsighted, but can see,
Or Tim, who knows the names of all the stars;
Or, if you’re really in despair, take me.