Classic Poem

Bobbing about to the fiddle,
Let's foot away squabbles and strife!
The wedding has turned out a riddle,
Yet what but a riddle is life?
Since thus we have botched up a marriage,
Example must now be your guide,
The fathers have had a miscarriage,
So prithee take care of the bride.

When a wedding once stolen we discover,
A mere round of cards is the same;
Though no king-of-diamonds the lover,
The father's tricked out of the game.
Miss a gay queen-of-hearts, and the parson
A plump knave-of-clubs; whilst the face
Of papa, whom they put such a farce on,
With choler looks like a red ace.

Love is a lady's profession,
Her heart is so tenderly cast;
Like wax it will take an impression,
But then the impression will last.
True love never varies its fashion;
Cease, cruel parents! to blame.
How trivial and hasty your passion!
Our passion is always the same.

Let a chambermaid join in the ditty,
Who laughs at the name of a wife!
What woman that ever was pretty
Would think of one lover for life?
Should numbers prefer their petition,
And now I have numbers in sight;
Remember I give you permission
To visit me every night.