Staunton Spectator, And General Advertiser

POETRY.

WE WILL MARRY NEXT FALL.

I gave her a rose—and I gave her a ring,
And I asked her to marry me then;
But she sent them all back—the insensible thing,
And said she'd no notion of men.

I told her I'd oceans of money and goods,
And tried her to fright with a growl,
But she answer'd, she wasn't brought up in the woods,
To be scared with the shriek of an owl.

I called her a baggage, and every thing bad—
I slighted her features and form,
Till at length I succeeded in getting her mad,
And she raged like the sea in a storm;

And then in a moment I turned and smiled,
And I called her my angel and all,
She fell in my arms like a wearisome child,
And exclaimed—'We will marry next fall.'