By her little tricks she plays in her winning ways,
Pulling off your hat and fumbling your cravat,
Knocking over chairs, trying to go upstairs,
Picking all the flowers for grandpa to smell,
And more other things than tongue or pen can tell.
She’s a little sprite and good for our sight.
But here I must pause and sadly say,
That one evil day a swelling came on her neck,
We thought for sure had come from us to take
The little brat, and all our hearts to break.