MA-RY E. BRAD-LEY.
This is lit-tle Ro-sa-belle—
No! I beg her par-don,
This is Ma-dame Mob-cap,
Walk-ing in her gar-den.
What a fine cap it is!
What a wide bor-der!
Spec-ta-cles and walk-ing-stick,
And ev-er-y-thing in or-der.
Hop, toads, clear the way!
Bees, hush your hum-ming!
La-dy-birds and but-ter-flies,
Grand folks are com-ing!
Nev-er think she'll look at you,
Vi-o-lets and dai-sies!
You're quite too in-sig-nif-i-cant
For such a la-dy's prais-es.
She must have a king-cup,
And a prince's feath-er,
With a crown-im-pe-ri-al,
Tied up to-geth-er.
That will suit your Maj-es-ty,
Ma-dame Ro-sa-bel-la!
And here's a gold-en sun-flow-er
To make you an um-brel-la.
"Pooh!" says lit-tle Ro-sa-belle,
Pluck-ing some car-na-tions;
"You may keep your sun-flow-ers,
And all their rich re-la-tions.
"Give me a bunch of vi-o-lets,
And one of those white ros-es,
And take your crown-im-pe-ri-al
To folks that have no nos-es."