The Return Home, 92

Near me dwelleth Don Henriques,
As the “handsome” known and fêted;
Our apartments are adjoining,
By a thin wall separated.

Salamanca’s dames are blushing
As he in the streets is walking
Rattling spurs, mustachios twirling,
With his dogs behind him stalking.

But at evening’s silent hour he
All alone at home is sitting,
His guitar his fingers twanging,
Sweet dreams through his fancy flitting.

On the chords with vigour plays he,
His wild phantasies beginning--
O it drives me mad to hear him
Keeping up his wretched dinning.