She curtisied, & his head he bent, In sign of mutual consent, For farther rites no more they tarried, But all agreed that they were married. Jove, who had learnt that t’was the fashion, Next gave the pair an exhortation, “Stephen, as you’ve now taken a wife, Make it the study of your life, Never to cross, or fret, or tease her, But always, do your best to please her, And if you don’t you are forlorn, Better that you had ne’er been born, For if you once in duty fail, Mop-sticks & broom-sticks thick as hail, And all the heaviest thumps of fate, Shall fall on your devoted pate.” “Betsey your interest & your ease, Require that you your husband please, But do in all things him obey, Or he will give his rod full sway, For know, by right he keeps a stick, With which he’ll give you many a lick, To teach you in the married state, Some joys, but many crosses wait.” Down in her chair, sad Betsey sat, As melancholy as any cat, And Stephen looked as if he thought, The neighbo’ring blessing dearly bought. When Juno whispered, “T’ is too bad, To frighten this poor lass & lad. You make it ten times worse than t’ is. See how you lengthen out their Phiz.” Then turned she to the married pair. And whispered comfort in their ear. “Now don’t be scared, & don’t be flurried, For t’ is a fine thing to be married, I’ve tried it, & of course know best, And husband certain is in jest,” And now the immortal company Jocund & lively ’gan to be; Some joked, some laughed & kissed the bride, And, to make poetry, some tried. Some put cake through the wedding ring, And some did talk, & some did sing, When, oh! most awful to relate, Urged on by some relentless fate, Old Capt, Smith the bell did ring, And all like frightened birds took wing, And as my muse among them soared, I cannot write another word. On a little gingerbread man that Miss C. Beecher gave Louisa Wait on New Years: