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I PICTURED out my passion,
In florid fretwork fashion,
Expostulating!
Waiting!
Stating,
Mating we must be,
And subtle thought, relating,
To scheme, of emigrating,
With bride, to land of Bashan,
Was exercising me;
When, peering like a picket,
Or a cricket,
From a thicket,
Thro' the wicket,
Came another, on the scene,
And we were three!
'Twas the spinster, in a hurried
Fit of minorhood, I married,
She succoured me
From bigamy,
Said she,
"Come home to tea!"
I went, and drank it boiling,—
A mug of strong Bohea!—
I drank it, without sugar,
A tannic dose, for me!