And down at once my pride is hurled,
You’ve picked me—and you’ve picked a pocket?
Oh! when our love had got so far,
The banns were read by Doctor Daly,
Who asked if there was any bar—
Why did not some one shout “Old Bailey”?
But when you robed your flesh and bones
In that pure white that angel garb is,
Who could have thought you, Mary Jones,
Among the Joans that link with Darbies!