Of threescore mingled girls and boys,
Some few upon their tasks intent,
But more on furtive mischief bent.
The while the master’s downward look
Was fastened on a copy-book,
Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack,
As ’twere a battery of bliss
Let off in one tremendous kiss!
“What’s that?” the startled master cries.
“That, thir,” a little imp replies,