Lament of the Handsome Man - Anonymous Poem - 1834

There is a newspaper with a small record on Trove, the Trumpeter General of Hobart,  whose record spans just one year, December 1833 to December 1834. It sometimes included poetry in its offerings. Here is one of the poems. Offered as a bit of fun. I do not identify with the author ;-) Though roughly wearing my hair and clumsy boots does seem true to brand.

Lament of the Handsome Man

My nose is very aquiline,

My eyes are very grand,

My teeth are very beautiful,

And six feet two I stand ;

My whiskers black, mustachios too,

My waist a child could span,

My dark hair curls, my foot is small,

I am a handsome man.

Horses take fright, that I may help,

Hankerchiefs fall by chance,

Sandals untie that I may tie,

Hands linger in the dance ;

Chains, purses, lockets, rings,

In scores, come to trepan,

But I am not a marrying, though

I am a handsome man.

I wish my flirting nonsense were

Not told with such delight,

I wish my smiling gave no joy.

My 'cutting' caused no fright ;

And would that I might be excused,

From picking up each fan,

They’re only dropped to be returned,

By such a handsome man.

Dancing I hate — so only ask,

Those who have partners found,

But ah! for me, they wilfully

Forget to whom they’re bound ;

I try the Spanish dance with one,

Each other lays a plan,

Just to mistake, and waltz down once,

With such a handsome man.

I’d like to study politics,

And how each member votes,

But dare not look at the debates,

I’m reading soft pink notes ;

Two grooms I keep, express to ride,

With answers, scarce they can,

Attend to all who ask a line

From such a handsome man.

I wish that I were very plain,

I wish my eyes were green,

I wish my hair was red and straight,

My figure short and mean ;

To shun these female plagues I'd be

Deformed and rude as pan,

I wish they’d give me up, and say.

He’s not a handsome man.

I’ve tried ill-made and vulgar clothes,

Put on with sloven air,

A rude or stupid look assumed,

And roughly worn my hair ;

Worn clumsy boots, (Heavens! thick of that)

But useless was each plan.

They cried, "To dress he nothing owed,

He's such a handsome man.

Whoever sings, I'm forced to take,

A part in her duet,

With tender words (sung out of time)

For ever I'm beset;

I, opera music love—but there

Attend I never can ;

All smile, bow, beckon, sigh or flirt. With such a handsome man.

Source:

POETRY. (1834, September 2). Trumpeter General (Hobart, Tas. : 1833 - 1834), p. 4. Retrieved April 17, 2026, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article172895995

Image:

AWKWARD FOR OUR ARTIST. (1869, December 23). Melbourne Punch (Vic. : 1855 - 1900), p. 5. Retrieved April 17, 2026, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article174539646