With a smile his sorrow cures ; Go and bid the parson bring his book, book, book." So pray, I have taken it in my pate To choose a loving mate, 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.” |