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.