What is that noise?

Oh what is that noise;
That thumps so on my door?
I think it be my husband;
But he shouldn’t be home ‘till four.
Hurry, hurry, dress your sorry bones;
And flee through the laundry.
For if he should spy you Mr. Jones;
I would be in quite a quandary.
Go on now!
Do just as I say!
Carry the blessed shirt;
And don it on the way.
Ah, thank goodness he has fled;
I hear keys ringing on a chain.
Oh dear what now;
Why are you back again?
You’ve left your good shoes;
Left them lying in my floor.
Get them, quick now;
Before he unlocks the door.
Ah! It’s too late!
I hear the lock turning.
Whew, there he goes once more;
Just as my dear man is returning.