The bells are all ringing,
And tidings are bringing,
Of peace and of joy.
Then let us, my treasure,
In love without measure,
And tenderest pleasure,
Our moments employ.
'Eh! what? what's all that?' cried Jerry. 'Why sure—body o'me, sure you ant—Oh, confound me, but 'tis making love to the mistress you are!'
The minstrel blushed, and more pointedly repeated;
But her favourite warden, could he but sing,