Though your head it may wrack with a bilious attack
And your senses with toothache you're losing
Don't be mopey and flat, they won't fine you for that
If you're properly quaint and amusing
Though your wife ran away with a soldier that day
And took with her your trifle of money
Bless your heart, they don't mind; they're exceedingly kind...
They won't blame you, so long as you're funny.

A Private Buffoon, WS Gilbert (and Sullivan)