Dame Prudence whispers marry not
’Till you have pence enough to pay
For chattels, and to keep a cot,
And leave a mite for quarter-day.
Beside chair, table, and a bed,
Those need, who cannot live on air,
Two plates, a basket for the bread,
And knives and forks at least two pair.
When winter rattles in the sky
Drear is the bed that wants a rug,
And hapless he whose purse is dry
When sickness calls for pill and drug.
So, Bess, we’ll e’en put off the day
For parson C---- to tie us fast--
Who knows but luck, so long away,
May come and bide with us at last?
Hope shall be ours the tedious while;
We’ll mingle hearts, our lips shall join
I’ll only claim thy sweetest smile,
Only thy softest tress be mine.