Oh! when our love had got so far,
The bans were read by Dr. Daley,
Who asked if there was any bar—
Why did not some one shout “Old Bailey?”
But when you rob’d your flesh and bones
In that pure white that angel garb is,
Who could have thought you, Mary Jones,
Among the Joans that link with Darbies?
And when the parson came to say,
My goods were yours, if I had got any,
And you should honour and obey,
Who could have thought—“O Bay of Botany.”
But, oh,—the worst of all your slips
I did not till this day discover—
That down in Deptford’s prison ships,
Oh, Mary! you’ve a hulking lover!
No. II.
“Love, with a witness.”
He has shaved off his whiskers and blacken’d his brows,
Wears a patch and a wig of false hair,—
But it’s him—Oh it’s him!—we exchanged lovers’ vows,
When I lived up in Cavendish Square.
He had beautiful eyes, and his lips were the same,
And his voice was as soft as a flute—
