Epithalamium Since you, Mr. H**d, will marry black Kate, Accept of good wishes for that blessed state: May you fight all the day like a dog and a cat, And yet ev'ry year produce a new brat. Fal la! May she never be honest -- you never be sound; May her tongue like a clapper be heard a mile round; Till abandon'd by joy, and deserted by grace, You hang yourselves both in the very same place. Fal la! |
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