And sadly hang my head,
With the remark, 'I'm very weary,
And wish that I were dead.'
But on my husband's arm I'll lean,
And roundly waste his plenteous gold,
Passing the honeymoon serene
In that new world which is the old.
For down we'll go and take the boat
Beside St. Katherine's Docks afloat,
Which round about its prow has wrote—