With a smile his sorrow cures ;

At length she says, “ I'm yours ; Go and bid the parson bring his book, book, book.”

I have taken it in my pate

To choose a loving mate,
So pray, Mr. Parson, do not muse, muse, muse."

He was going to say more,

When a rap at the door Made them both for to jump with a start, start, start.

' 'Tis,” said he, “a friend of mine,

Come to ask me to dine
On turkey, and chine, and on tart, tart, tart.”

“What are turkey and chine

To love so hot as mine!” Said the loving little man, as he sigh’d, sigh’d, sigh’d:

"Pray, think no more on it ;

Love has got on her bonnet, All ready to be my bride, bride, bride.”

To the little man and maid

The parson no more said, But to church with them quickly went, went, went.

And in presence of some

He soon made them one,
And happy to their home them sent, sent, sent.