1.

Though your face is quite angelic,

like a Botticelli relic's,

your arguments are farcical

with logic that's illogical:

a pepper-pot volcano

with a fuse that always may go:

Vesuvius and Etna more predictable by far.

You're a Magyar prima donna

with a sense of umbraged honour:

in the mornings quite outrageous

with ill-temper that's contagious,

when you turn around and snap at me

like little dogs who yap at me.

Yes, that's the kind of woman I've discovered that you are!

So come and let's admit it, to find happiness in life,

a man is better fitted with a robot for a wife!

2.

If they showed a little spirit,

the scientists of merit

could fabricate our spouses

in the manner they make houses:

unique, or even uniform,

hour-glass or cuneiform.

Instead of that they vegetate by shooting at the moon.

The one that I would order,

(we'll suppose I could afford her,)

would be randomised, like you dear,

but her logic would be true, dear.

She'd have minuscule adjustments

on the nipples, through a bust-vent,

where I'd fiddle with the knobs until our tempers were in tune.

So come and let's admit it, to find happiness in life,

a man is better fitted with a robot for a wife!

3.

It's not I don't appreciate

your subtleties which deviate

from conjugal convention -

forgive the condescension -

but matrimony indicates

a unity which vindicates

this troublesome exposure to another person's mind.

If half of you were willing

to undergo the drilling

that would lead to a collusion,

there'd be elements for fusion.

But it's clear to all and sundry

our weathercast is thundery.

If I switched you on to silence, you'd protest it was unkind.

So come and let's admit it, to find happiness in life,

a man is better fitted with a robot for a wife!