My father had a daughter got a man,
As it might be, perhaps, were I good-looking,
I should, your lordship.
And what's her residence?
A hut my lord, she never owned a house,
But let her husband, like a graceless scamp,
Spend all her little means, -- she thought she ought, --
And in a wretched chamber, on an alley,
She worked like masons on a monument,
Earning their bread. Was not this love indeed?

- Phoebe Cary

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