Tis Not Her Coldness, Father, That Chills

Thrice Happy's The Wooing That's Not Long Adoing. So Much Time Is Saved In The Billing And Cooing.

I Was Between A Man And A Boy, A Hobble-de-hoy, A Fat, Little, Punchy Concern Of Sixteen.

Ghosts, Like Ladies, Never Speak Till Spoke To.

The Jackdaw Sat In The Cardinal's Chair! Bishop And Abbot And Prior Were There, Many A Monk And Many A Friar, Many A Knight And Many A Squire, With A Great Many More Of Lesser Degree,-- In Sooth A Goodly Company; And They Served The Lord Primate On Bended Knee. Never, I Ween, Was A Prouder Seen, Read Of In Books Or Dreamt Of In Dreams, Than The Cardinal Lord Archbishop Of Rheims.

Tis Not Her Coldness, Father, That Chills My Labouring Breast; It's That Confounded Cucumber I've Ate And Can't Digest.