CCCCLII.

When shall we be married, My dear Nicholas Wood? We will be married on Monday, And will not that be very good? What, shall we be married no sooner? Why sure the man's gone wood![*]

What shall we have for our dinner, My dear Nicholas Wood? We will have bacon and pudding, And will not that be very good? What, shall we have nothing more? Why sure the man's gone wood!

Who shall we have at our wedding, My dear Nicholas Wood? We will have mammy and daddy, And will not that be very good? What, shall we have nobody else? Why sure the man's gone wood!

[Footnote *: Mad. This sense of the word has long been obsolete; and exhibits therefore, the antiquity of these lines.]

CCCCLIII.

Tommy Trot, a man of law, Sold his bed and lay upon straw: Sold the straw and slept on grass, To buy his wife a looking-glass.

We're all dry with drinking on't. We're all dry with drinking on't; The piper spoke to the fiddler's wife, And I can't sleep for thinking on't.

"John, come sell thy fiddle, And buy thy wife a gown." "No, I'll not sell my fiddle, For ne'er a wife in town."