The pots and pans had all retreated,
The house in ev'ry point seemed righted,
Naught's out of place but those invited,
Just to witness the sticking of two soles together,
Tight as e'er gutta percha has stuck unto leather.
Now although 'tis not late
The dame likes not to wait,
It puts her in such a great fidget;
There is nothing to do
She can put her hand to,