As doves in a cot we began, boys,
A cosy and orthodox pair:
Till I found at my notable wife, boys,
The world was beginning to stare.
She liked it. At first so did I, boys,
But, at length, when all over the place
She was sketched, hunted, photo’d and mobbed, boys,
I cried, “Hang her sweet pretty face!”
Still, we went here and there,—right and left, boys;—
We were asked dozen’s deep,—I say “we,”