I need not tell how this Sir Thomas Brown,
Made love to this lady of great renown,
And offer’d this sweet and beautiful dame
In accents most tender, his heart and name;
How he was accepted, and on said day—
The last of the year, he led her away
To the Altar—the twain became one,
In spite of his children, daughter and son.
’Twas nicely arranged, ’twas secretly planned—
The bride—she looked sweet, the groom—he looked bland.