We called him soon and early for fear he would be late.

He snored and yawned, then murmured, “Oh call again at eight.”

We shaved him and we washed him, and Marcel waived his hair,

We buttoned up his trousers and powdered him with care.

We gave him eggs for breakfast, and butter on his bread,

He then gazed in a mirror to make sure he had a head.

We packed him in a motor, and sat on him all day;

This was a wise precaution to prevent a run away.

To Rathnew then we motored, it is forty miles or more

Between the hills of Wicklow, real Irish to the core.

The sun shone brightly on us, as through the glens we sped,

The birds were singing gaily, “This day Mike will be wed”.

We stopped at New Mountkennedy to enquire the way I think,

When Mike said in an undertone “Would you like a little drink?”

We reached our destination, the hour was just eleven,

“Another half hour Mike ould son, and you will be in Heaven.”

He bore up well and bravely as we supped tea and cake,

While he rehearsed at intervals “I will this woman take.”

We then heard for the first time with feelings of dismay,

The church wherein we were to meet, was still then ten miles away

Again into the motor we bundled Tod and Mike,

With Yah and Roguey, Mrs Shane, you never saw the like.

I sat out with the driver to save him from a lurch

The bells were ringing merrily, as we came up to the church.

Then Yah and Roguey, Phil and I walked up the aisle in state;

The pews were very narrow, there was no room for my “fate”.

The people stared at us in awe the curate raised a frown

At whispers from the pitstalls “His ould wan’s down from town.”

We waited for the bridegroom who begob had done a bunk;

I felt just like an elephant who had gone and lost his trunk.

The curate coughed then said a prayer, and gazed around in gloom,

Then came to me all smiles and said “I presume YOU are the groom.”

“Me! Oh no begob your riverence for I’ve been had before;”

I got my legs outside the pew and bolted for the door.

I soon found Tod and Mike (who was pinning up his socks)

I grabbed him by the neck tie and shoved him in the dock.

The bride arrived soon after all dressed in silver grey,

A Mr Shane her B-in-law with glee gave her away.

The curate, she and Mike, then played at Put and Take;

Mike did all the putting, she did all the take.

We then had more palaver, and wedding hymns were sung

The bells again start pealing “Begob poor Mike is hung.”

We drenched them with confetti and then their Phizzers took;

We threw away our small change to urchins just for luck.

Again into a motor the bride and groom were packed . . . . .

Mike had his little Ada and kissed her oft and long,

And every other female he kissed in that great throng.

Begob Mike is some kisser I was proud of on that day,

No matter what the face was like he kissed that face away.

His lips were sore his eyes were dim, I saw his head was reeling,

Hurrah for Mike the only Sole who has the Kruschen Feeling.

Then back to Mrs Shane’s we went for lashings for to eat;

Puddens, pies and trifles, jellies, fowl and mate,

Coffee, tea and chocolates and cakes of every hue,

When I had punished all the lot I wished that I were you.