The Humourous Poetry of the English Language

183
And,--what was more her fate than blame,--
A nine months' widow was our dame.
But toil was hard, for trade was good,
And gallants sometimes will be rude.
"And what can a lone woman do?
The nights are long and eerie too.
Now, Guillot there's a likely man.
None better draws or taps a can;
He's just the man, I think, to suit,
If I could bring my courage to't."
With thoughts like these her mind is cross'd:
The dame, they say, who doubts, is lost.
"But then the risk? I'll beg a slice.
Of Father Raulin's good advice."
Frankt in her best, with looks demure,
She seeks the priest; and, to be sure,
Asks if he thinks she ought to wed:
"With such a business on my head,
I'm worried off my legs with care,
And need some help to keep things square.
I've thought of Guillot, truth to tell!
He's steady, knows his business well,
What do you think?" When thus he met her
"Oh, take him, dear, you can't do better!"
"But then the danger, my good pastor,
If of the man I make the master.
There is no trusting to these men."
"Well, well, my dear, don't have him then!"
"But help I must have, there's the curse.
I may go further and fare worse."
"Why, take him then!" "But if he should
Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good,--
In drink and riot waste my all,
And rout me out of house and hall?"
"Don't have him, then! But I've a plan
To clear your doubts, if any can.
The bells a peal are ringing,--hark!
Go straight, and what they tell you mark.
If they say 'Yes!' wed, and be blest--
If 'No,' why--do as you think best."