Up flies Bobolincon perching on an apple tree;
Startled by his rival’s song, quickened by his raillery.
Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curvetting in the air,
And merrily he turns about and warns him to beware!
“ ’Tis you that would a-wooing go, down among the rushes O!
Wait a week, till flowers are cheery; wait a week ere you marry,
Be sure of a house wherein to tarry;
Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait!”
Every one’s a funny fellow; every one’s a little mellow;
Follow, follow, follow, follow, o’er the hill and in the hollow.