But the course of true love it can never run smooth, As this tale will, as others, undoubtedly prove. There is always some guardian, or cruel old Pa, Who won't give his consent; or some tiresome Ma, Who don't think the young man is quite well enough off For her beautiful daughter to wed; and so forth. Now old Donoghue tries all he can to find out What so busies his son, till he leaps out of doubt, And jumps at the conclusion, which proves to be true, That he means to get married the old maid unto. "I won't give my consent!" he exclaims in a rage; "And you shall not yourselves to each other engage. I'll disinherit you sure if you dare to resist My commands, and shall still in this madness persist." "Oh, oh! what's the matter? What means all this clatter?" Said the Abbot, who seemed much amused; "It is really too bad! Sure the man must be mad: Such an offer, what maid could refuse? Sir, you'd better allow me for life to provide For your child, by converting her into a bride. As her poor little heart will undoubtedly break, If you cruelly make her her first love forsake." "But it is not a daughter," the other replied; "'Tis the man is my boy, who, if now he decide To be snared by yon penniless girl, for himself Must look out, for no finger he lays on my wealth." "Well, that alters the case; But I really must own That, were I in your place, I would leave them alone, For Love's arrows sink deep, and our heart's blood they quaff, While the little wretch dares at e'en locksmiths to laugh. So it really is wiser to give your consent, For you know you can't really the marriage prevent. For what's gold, may I ask, when its charms you compare With bright smiles, with such looks, and with features so fair? And, besides, the young people are quite old enough To decide for themselves; and advice would seem stuff And great nonsense, I fear, to their prejudiced ears; For their eyes are so blinded they won't see your fears." Then the old man sat down With a dark gloomy frown, As he muttered he never would give them a "brown." But the obstinate son Could be ruled o'er by none; When he made up his mind he would have a thing done. So he still stood his ground, And the fearful maid found That she now had a chance of her fate getting bound; Not just stitched, or bound half, But quite whole bound with calf. How she chuckles with joy, as she grins forth a laugh! As she says the few words which proclaim her the wife Of as stupid a man as e'er lived out a life! Now the eight are but four, for a pair forms but one; They have each one been halved, so they all are undone. Though the ladies of course (now pray don't make a jest of it), As the bettermost half, have for ever the best of it. Having two votes to one in nigh every dispute, And as much more to say if their words you compute.