Nursery Rhyme. CCCCLXXVII. Love And Matrimony.
I married my wife by the light of the moon, A tidy housewife, a tidy one; She never gets up until it is noon, And I hope she'll prove a tidy one. And when she gets up, she is slovenly laced, A tidy housewife, a tidy one; She takes up the poker to roll out the paste, And I hope she'll prove a tidy one. She churns her butter in a boot, A tidy housewife, a tidy one; And instead of a churnstaff she puts in her foot, And I hope she'll prove a tidy one. She lays her cheese on the scullery shelf, A tidy housewife, a tidy one; And she never turns it till it turns itself. And I hope she'll prove a tidy one.
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