This floating belle shall ring for none but me.
I am her father; and my lawyer knows,
Paying for her dresses, I can keep her close.
All’s safe to-night, and so I’ll tramp to bed—
(Moon rises.)[1]
What’s that? the moon is rising overhead,
And coming up in such a smashing way,
It rivals the Museum’s famous Peep o’ Day.
So I’ll to bed, and should marauders roam,
Let them beware; for Capulet’s at home.