Lucky Dip Number 38
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Poverty and Pride
He was minister* of the local congregation Where the young couple soon were to wed And the family envisaged the splendour Of the bride in her glory arrayed. The lavishness planned for the wedding Was like something from Vanity Fair While poverty peeping through the keyhole Tried in vain the expense to deter. The minister, who knew the position, With his conscience could not be at rest Until he had tried to persuade them Something simpler would be for the best. Pleased how the young couple listened He felt the situation was saved For their silence seemed to betoken They accepted the advice that he gave. But he failed to notice the granny Who sat in the corner retired Till she broke the silence in anger And spoke like a demon inspired. "Her mither an' me afore her Ne'er a weddin' gown wore Sh's the first bride in three gen'rations And the de'il knows when we'll ha'e more". "So quit your bless'd connivin'" Was the diminutive woman's upbraid With a few well chosen expletives To colour the point that she made. "The ne'bours long will r'member This weddin' with no expense spared" And the fire in her eyes quickly told him That to answer was more than he dared. The minister abandoned the contest Like a dog that was hiding its tail For a peacock that's proud of its feathers Is not the best bird to assail. |
* my brother knew this minister
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