Scrattle

But if I'm duly sensible of this, And if I really fear to do amiss, How, George, how (in the name of wonder!) then, Dares my poor, puny, scurvy, scrattling pen Presume thy neat performances to trace, And, with mean words, thy beauteous works debase

My husband says “What's the good of scrattling and saving, Edna, when in two–three years we might all be blown up by an atom bomb?