SONGS OF INNOCENCE.
GOLF IN SPRINGTIME.
Merry little baa-lambs sporting on the grass,
Playing ring-a-roses, dancing as you pass,
Crying,
"Jones has topped his brassie shot! What a way to play!
Now then, all together, boys—Me-e-eh!"
Pretty little woollies, white as driven snow,
Following your mothers, skipping as you go,
Crying,
"Jones is in the bunker! What a lot he has to say!
Give it all together, boys—Me-e-e-eh!"
Harbingers of Springtime! innocently fair,
Frisking on the greensward, leaping in the air,
Crying,
"Jones is in the whins again! He's off his drive to-day;
Once more let him have it, boys—Me-e-e-e-eh!"
Silly little baa-lambs! If you only knew,
One day you'll be fatter and I'll have the laugh on you,
Crying,
"Every time I foozled they bleated with delight.
Now they're lamb-and-mint-sauce. Serves the beggars right!"
ALGOL.
