The unearthly voices scarce had ceased their yelling, When Rupert reach'd his old baronial dwelling.
What rejoicing was there! How the vassals did stare! The old housekeeper put a clean shirt down to air, For she saw by her lamp That her master's was damp, And she fear'd he'd catch cold, and lumbago and cramp; But, scorning what she did, The Knight never heeded Wet jacket or trowsers, nor thought of repining, Since their pockets had got such a delicate lining. But oh! what dismay Fill'd the tribe of Ca Sa, When they found he'd the cash, and intended to pay! Away went "cognovits," "bills," "bonds," and escheats,"— Rupert clear'd off all scores, and took proper receipts.
Now no more he sends out For pots of brown stout Or schnaps, but resolves to do henceforth without, Abjure from this hour all excess and ebriety, Enrol himself one of a Temp'rance Society, All riot eschew, Begin life anew, And new-cushion and hassock the family pew! Nay, to strengthen him more in his new mode of life, He boldly determines to take him a wife.
Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice sense Of honour, should put Lurline's name in the licence, And that, for a man of his breeding and quality, To break faith and troth, Confirm'd by an oath, Is not quite consistent with rigid morality; But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water, And declined as unsuited A bride so diluted— Be this as it may, He, I'm sorry to say, (For, all things consider'd, I own 'twas a rum thing,) Made proposals in form to Miss Una Von—something, (Her name has escaped me,) sole heiress, and niece To a highly respectable Justice of Peace.
"Thrice happy's the wooing That's not long a-doing!" So much time is saved in the billing and cooing— The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves, And all the et cetera which crown people's loves; A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker, And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre, That shaft which the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is, A plum-colour'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries.
'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight, With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white, And the bridemaids fair with their long lace veils, As they all walk'd up to the altar rails, While nice little boys, the incense dispensers, March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers.
With a gracious air, and a smiling look, Mess John had open'd his awful book, And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant? And if "he knew any just cause or impediment?" When from base to turret the castle shook!!! Then came a sound of a mighty rain Dashing against each storied pane, The wind blew loud, And a coal-black cloud O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd; How it could happen they could not divine, The morning had been so remarkably fine!
Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd such a pass That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas; But harder it pour'd, And the thunder roar'd, As if heaven and earth were coming together; None ever had witness'd such terrible weather. Now louder it crash'd, And the lightning flash'd, Exciting the fears Of the sweet little dears In the veils, as it danced on the brass chandeliers; The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon, When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon.
Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected, Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected, And endeavoured to cheer His bride, in her ear Whisp'ring tenderly, "Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear; Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture." But now, from without A trustworthy scout Rush'd hurriedly in, Wet through to the skin, Informing his master "the river was rising, And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising."
He'd no time to say more, For already the roar Of the waters was heard as they reach'd the church-door, While, high on the first wave that roll'd in, was seen, Riding proudly, the form of the angry Lurline; And all might observe, by her glance fierce and stormy, She was stung by the spretæ injuriâ formæ.