“You are plain, Mr. Biggar,” the maiden cried,
“Though your hair has not yet turned to grey;
But you’re nice Mr. Biggar, a sensible man,
Why not marry me, Joseph, I pray?”
“In the days of my youth,” Mr. Biggar replied,
“The marital rocks I steered past,
And carefully kept myself free from the knot,
That I ne’er might repent it at last.”
“You’re not young, Mr. Biggar,” the maiden cried,
“And the troubles of age creep apace;