I little thought that you had run
A chance of hanging on your own too.
You said you pick’d me from the world,
My vanity it now must shock it—
And down at once my pride is hurl’d,
You’ve pick’d me—and you’ve pick’d a pocket.
Oh! when our love had got so far,
The bans were read by Dr. Daly,
Who asked if there was any bar—
Why did not some one shout “Old Bailey?”