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From The Topeka State Journal, April 3, 1913.
 By Roy K. Moulton.

 He fell upon his bended knees
 And said: “Oh Agnes, wed me please.”
 He told her that she was his queen
 The grandest gal he’d ever seen
 That no one had no eyes like her’n—
 At least so fur as he could learn.
 He said he’d never seen so rare
 And gorgeous a display of hair.
 He said her figger was immense
 And hoped she wouldn’t take offense
 Because he mentioned such a thing,
 For of it poets often sing.
 He said he’d traveled all around
 And never had he heard a sound
 So musical as was her voice.
 She was his one and only choice.
 He’d give her all he had to give,
 Without her he could never live.
 No friend was by, his speech to stay.
 He wound up in the usual way.
 She gave to him her maiden heart—
 It was a cinch right from the start.
 For, while she let him have his say,
 He had no chance to get away.
 She had him lashed right to the mast
 And tied and shackled hard and fast.
 He didn’t know what he had said,
 He simply knew that they were wed;
 And when to breakfast she came down,
 Years later in an old house gown,
 Without a sign of curl or rat,
 And ready for the daily spat,
 He wondered how in thunder she
 Could have inspired the ecstasy
 Upon that great momentous night
 On which he made and won his fight.
 And then it percolates his brain
 As it has done time and again
 That she just had him hypnotized
 Until he raved and idolized.

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