Next week the wedding-bells won't do a thing,
For I'll be there, I guess, to fill the set,
And Pansy's Ma, she won't be late, you bet,
To see the Reverend Mr. pull the string.
Me for a spike-tailed scabbard and a ring,
A shell-back shirt, forsooth a peacherette.
I'll be the daintiest bridegroom ever yet;
Nothing to do but take the count, then—bing!

Love in a cottage run on union pay—
Can Teddy Roosevelt do a sum like that?
Two can eat cheap as one, perhaps, but say,
You've got to beat a quarter pretty flat
To cork three squares, make Little Two Shoes snug
And keep the Wolf from chewing up the rug.