"Now True, my dear, I'll be your own;
I'll make you an ever happy home;
I feel Pa's oft' spoke words are true,
Trueman's your name, True Man are you."
He pressed her closely to his breast:
To dry her tears he did his best;
Then gently kissed her burning cheeks
And bade her wait but a few weeks.
The happiest man in all the land
Was True. St. Lawrence, with trembling hand,
Who then returned to his rooms rich,
A restless night to roll and pitch
Upon a bed of faultless down,
But pains of heart it could not drown.
He lay and mused throughout the night,
'Cause his future now looked bright.
Sarah Waddington and her mother
Prepared a party for another.
A gent they wished to entertain,
'Cause Sarah wished to bear his name.