And now the sacred rite was done, and the marriage-knot
was tied,
And Colt withdrew his blushing wife a little way aside;
"Let's go," he said, "into my cell; let's go alone, my dear;
I fain would shelter that sweet face from the sheriff's
odious leer.

The jailer and the hangmen, they are waiting both for
me,—
I cannot bear to see them wink so knowingly at thee!
Oh, how I loved thee, dearest! They say that I am
wild,
That a mother dares not trust me with the weasand of
her child;

They say my bowie-knife is keen to sliver into halves
The carcass of my enemy, as butchers slay their calves.
They say that I am stern of mood, because, like salted
beef,
I packed my quartered foeman up, and marked him 'prime
tariff;'

Because I thought to palm him on the simple-souled John
Bull,
And clear a small percentage on the sale at Liverpool;
It may be so, I do not know—these things, perhaps,
may be;
But surely I have always been a gentleman to thee!

Then come, my love, into my cell, short bridal space is
ours,—
Nay, sheriff, never look thy watch—I guess there's good
two hours.
We'll shut the prison doors and keep the gaping world
at bay,
For love is long as 'tarnity, though I must die to-day!"