'Tis very strange, (yet so it is,)
That vows should go for naught.
But she who _strove_ to 'scape love's _toils_
Quite unawares was caught!

For though so _hard_ to Snip _at first_,
_At last_ it chanced that she
A sort of soft emotion felt
Towards one Timothy,

A butcher--_Green_ by name, but _red_
In face, as was his cap,
And though he seldom tasted _wine_,
A _port_-ly sort of chap.

This man one day in passing by,
In taste for what she'd got,
Saw Biddy's stall--and 'twas her _fate_
To sell to him a _lot!_

She thought his manners very sweet,
He gave so fond a gaze;
(But dashing _blades_ of such like trades
Have ever _killing_ ways!)

And whilst he paid the _coppers_ down,
He had the _brass_ to say
Her _fruit_ was sweet, but sweeter still
The _apple_ of her eye.