Pardon, dearest Araminta,
If I go not on my knees,
For my joints are out of order,
When I bend they crack and wheeze.
When I saw you in the doll's-house,
Then I felt young Cupid's dart
Striking through my crimson waistcoat,
Till it stuck within my heart.
Though my blood is not the bluest,
Still, for you (the fact remains)
I would gladly shed the last drop
Of the sawdust in my veins.
Do not scorn me, Araminta,
To my suit your favour lend;
I would fold my arms around you,
Only that I cannot bend.
For, before I fell in love, dear,
Ere I hoped with you to wed,
Careless Mistress Baby dropped me
Down the stairs upon my head.
But I'll probably recover
When I've had a dose of glue,
And, come life or death, will ever
Be to Araminta true.