The story of Lot’s wife impress’d him With a more avericious wish— The diskivery of arter-fish-al means For ter salt his catches of fish.
On the shores of Cape Cod in them days Many old maids sigh’d alone For the lips of a man ter caress ’em, And the means ter sercure a home.
They had been doom’d ter sore diserpointment, The girlish bloom had diserpear’d, Leavin’ a shad-er of thar lost beauty On the features so dry and sear’d.
Bob Munn, he long ponder’d on the subject Of testin’ that ere recerpe, What work’d ter a charm at old Gomorrer, And set a poor hen-peck’d man free!
God had smil’d upon his undertakin’s, And he felt he might tempt him still, With a more ingenious expererment, Ter bring a fresh grist ter his mill.
Then he sent out many invertations— Corlected the maids at his board, And while they war gossippin’ o’er thar tea In his chamber he ask’d the Lord—
Ter merakerlously chenge ’em ter salt The cheaper ter cure his fresh cod; Then in faith he erose from his marrers, And his sinful tamp’rin’ with God!
Now Bob Munn in his folly expected On rejinin’ his guests ter find The work he’d mapped out for the Master, Perform’d by His Infernite mind.
