Till I'm trodden down at heel;
Trudge! trudge! trudge!
Till I'm faint for want of a meal.
Bell, and knocker, and box,
Box, and knocker, and bell;
Till over the letters I all but nod,
And drop them in a spell.
Oh, girls with lovers fond!
Oh, men who want to get wives!
It's not a mere custom you're keeping up;