The Honey-moon

Wou'd you know, my good friends, what the honey-moon is, How long in duration, how perfect in bliss, A proof may be found, and a sample be seen, In some boarding-school couple just left Gretnagreen. My dearest, my duck, My sweetest, my chuck; Miss Kitty's an Angel, her Billy a God; Whips crack, glasses jingle, While sighs intermingle, And Cupid assents, and goes niddity nod, Niddity nod, niddity nod, O'er Kitty the Angel, and Billy the God.

Papa's and Mama's surly tempers once past, Bright Bloomsbury square has this couple at last! In three weeks possession, how pleasures will cloy! Neglect hurts the lady, and time cools the boy, So impatient to roam:— Ma'am, you're never at home, A path so vexatious no wife ever trod; My torment, my curse;— You are bad. You are worse. While Cupid flies off, from a quarrel so odd, Niddity nod, niddity nod, And Miss is no Angel, and Billy no God.

To routs hies the lady, to gambling goes master, To part from each other ne'er couple went faster. While raking at night, and distraction at noon, Soon close all the joys of the sweet honey-moon, Bleeding hearts, aching heads, Sep'rate tables and beds, Render wedlock's sweet countenance dull as a clod, Then hie for a summons From grave Doctor Commons, Whiel Proctors and parchments go niddity nod, Niddity nod, niddity nod, O'er Kitty the Angel, and Billy the God.