A Love Song

There was a little man. Who wooed a little maid; And he said, little Maid, will you wed, wed, wed? I have little more to say, So will you aye or nay, For the least said is soonest men ded, ded, ded,

Then replied the little maid, Little sir, you've little said To induce a little maid for to wed, wed, wed; You must say a little more, And produce a little Ore, E'er I make a little print in your Bed, Bed, Bed.

Then the little man reply'd, If you'll be my little bride, I'll raise my love notes a little higher, higher, higher; Tho' my offers are not meet, Yet my little heart is great, With the little God of love all on fire, fire, fire.

Then the little maid reply'd Should I be your little bride, Pray what must we have for to eat, eat, eat? Will the flame that you're so rich in Light a fire in the kitchen, Or the little God of love turn the spit, spit, spit?

Then the little man he sigh'd, And, some say, a little cry'd For his little heart was big with sorrow, sorrow, sorrow; As I am your little slave, If the little that I have Be too little, little, we will borrow, borrow, borrow.

Then the little man so gent, Made the little maid relent, And set her little heart a think-king, king, king. Tho' his offers were but small, She took his little All, She could have but the Cat and her skin, skin, skin.