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NEXT SUNDAY AT NINE OR "DEARIE WON'T YOU CALL ME DEARIE" (Evan Lloyd, 1912) Hello dearie my how sweet you look today Face so fair, golden hair bonnet trimmed with roses. Golden sun beams, on your face just love to play, And your eyes can't disguise love light oft' reposes; Wonder if you knew That I'm so proud of you. Dream days always since you named the wedding day, All so bright, hearts so light for our honeymooning. Orange blossoms, for the bride along the way, Roses too just for you 'Round the door a blooming; Honey can't you see You're all the world to me. Dearie won't you call me dearie, 'Cause it's drawing "nearie" to our wedding day Next Sunday Dearie don't you let us tarry you and I to marry In the Summer time And the same old chimes We have heard many times And next Sunday at nine You'll forever be mine.


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