To see her marry
Such a young cub as I.
Then she began to cry,
Swore that she'd rather die
Than not have Harry.
"I smiled within my sleeve,
And on that very eve
She and I took French leave;
But we were geese, man,
For right on Brattle Street
Whom should we chance to meet
But the old man discreet,
With a policeman.
"This was a bitter pill;
Said I, 'Scoot, Abigail!'
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