Now, many would think that the Knight, from a nice sense Of honour, should put Lurline's name in the licence, And that, for a man of his breeding and quality, To break faith and troth, Confirm'd by an oath, Is not quite consistent with rigid morality; But whether the nymph was forgot, or he thought her From her essence scarce wife, but at best wife-and-water, And declined as unsuited A bride so diluted-- Be this as it may, He, I'm sorry to say, (For, all things consider'd, I own 'twas a rum thing,) Made proposals in form to Miss _Una Von_--something, (Her name has escaped me,) sole heiress, and niece To a highly respectable Justice of Peace. "Thrice happy's the wooing That's not long a-doing!" So much time is saved in the billing and cooing-- The ring is now bought, the white favours, and gloves, And all the _et cetera_ which crown people's loves; A magnificent bride-cake comes home from the baker, And lastly appears, from the German Long Acre, That shaft which the sharpest in all Cupid's quiver is, A plum-colour'd coach, and rich Pompadour liveries. 'Twas a comely sight To behold the Knight, With his beautiful bride, dress'd all in white, And the bridemaids fair with their long lace veils, As they all walk'd up to the altar rails, While nice little boys, the incense dispensers, March'd in front with white surplices, bands, and gilt censers. With a gracious air, and a smiling look, Mess John had open'd his awful book, And had read so far as to ask if to wed he meant? And if "he knew any just cause or impediment?" When from base to turret the castle shook!!! Then came a sound of a mighty rain Dashing against each storied pane, The wind blew loud, And a coal-black cloud O'ershadow'd the church, and the party, and crowd; How it could happen they could not divine, The morning had been so remarkably fine! Still the darkness increased, till it reach'd such a pass That the sextoness hasten'd to turn on the gas; But harder it pour'd, And the thunder roar'd, As if heaven and earth were coming together; None ever had witness'd such terrible weather. Now louder it crash'd, And the lightning flash'd, Exciting the fears Of the sweet little dears In the veils, as it danced on the brass chandeliers; The parson ran off, though a stout-hearted Saxon, When he found that a flash had set fire to his caxon. Though all the rest trembled, as might be expected, Sir Rupert was perfectly cool and collected, And endeavoured to cheer His bride, in her ear Whisp'ring tenderly, "Pray don't be frighten'd, my dear; Should it even set fire to the castle, and burn it, you're Amply insured, both for buildings and furniture." But now, from without A trustworthy scout Rush'd hurriedly in, Wet through to the skin, Informing his master "the river was rising, And flooding the grounds in a way quite surprising."