The Bride

I got me a bride—ah! I got me a bride,
And a pretty good portion of trouble beside;
I have buried the peace and the joy of my life,
Which I shouldn't have done had I buried my wife.

I know not what fiend with the witch has combin'd;
He dived to his den, but he left her behind:
I asked her for wine, and I asked her for bread,
And she flung first abuse—then her fist at my head.

When I think of that excellent landlady who
Gives me food—gives me drink, and so cheerfully too;
And turn to that dragon, whom tiger-milk nurst,
My heart splits in two when I feel how I'm curst.

Only two nights ago—who had dreamt she was nigh?
When thinking and meaning no evil, not I;
I was bound to a neighbor's—the hideous one came
And vomited vengeance, and fury, and flame.

"Thou scoundrel! thou vagabond! wench-hunting knave!"
This, this was the welcome the evil one gave;
She roared like a lion that springs from his nook;
And, O! how I tottered, and trembled, and shook.

How long, O thou work of the devil! how long?
Every day thou art here does thy destiny wrong:
I know what thy doom is, I know it full well;
But why, while on earth, am I driven to hell?