Bab Ballads (version 2) — To My Bride—(Whoever She May Be)

TO MY BRIDE

(WHOEVER SHE MAY BE)

OH!

little maid!

—(I do not know your name Or who you are, so, as a safe precaution I’ll add)—Oh, buxom widow!

married dame!

(As one of these must be your present portion) Listen, while I unveil prophetic lore for you, And sing the fate that Fortune has in store for you.

You’ll marry soon—within a year or twain— A bachelor of _circa_ two and thirty: Tall, gentlemanly, but extremely plain, And when you’re intimate, you’ll call him “BERTIE.

” Neat—dresses well; his temper has been classified As hasty; but he’s very quickly pacified.

You’ll find him working mildly at the Bar, After a touch at two or three professions, From easy affluence extremely far, A brief or two on Circuit—“soup” at Sessions;

A pound or two from whist and backing horses, And, say three hundred from his own resources.

Quiet in harness; free from serious vice, His faults are not particularly shady, You’ll never find him “_shy_”—for, once or twice Already, he’s been driven by a lady, Who parts with him—perhaps a poor excuse for him— Because she hasn’t any further use for him.

Oh!

bride of mine—tall, dumpy, dark, or fair!

Oh!

widow—wife, maybe, or blushing maiden, I’ve told _your_ fortune; solved the gravest care With which your mind has hitherto been laden.

I’ve prophesied correctly, never doubt it;

Now tell me mine—and please be quick about it!

You—only you—can tell me, an’ you will, To whom I’m destined shortly to be mated, Will she run up a heavy _modiste’s_ bill?

If so, I want to hear her income stated (This is a point which interests me greatly).

To quote the bard, “Oh!

have I seen her lately?

”