Yet stay, scrumptious maid, like a beautiful Queen,
You shall dress in fine calico, silks, laces and shawls,
You shall ever wear the thingamys and your dear crinoline
Shall be three times as big as the dome of Saint Pauls;
“Ah! nay, simple Simon, she answered so cool,
I’d rather keep single than amalgamate with a fool,
So I’m the victim of love, I’m the victim of love,
There’s no cure for dislocation of the vertebræ, nor the victim of love.
Angelina! said I, “put an end to my woes,
My buzzum’s a busting, nay, cut me not short,”