"Surgeon, Spare That Wife" by S. R. Nosfatsug

Surgeon, hold thy knife!
Thou shalt not cut my wife!
While I've an ounce of strength
I shall protect her life.

Long gashes would'st thou make
Upon her silken skin;
Such wounds she will not take
While I, her next of kin,

Can stand twixt her and thee
With the gleaming sharpened blade.
Sooner I'd yield my neck
To spare my youth's fair maid.

Sure, she's old and weak now
Compared to days of yore.
But I'll defend her beak now
From what you have in store:

To slice her and to dice her
As if she were but pork.
No! She's MY hasty pudding
Though not the kind from York.

So put thee down thy weapon!
I make to thee no bow.
For she's set her heart on heaven,
And I'll defend her now!