For scragging all those old Welsh Harpers!
Pray, never, ere each tuneful doing,
Take a prodigious deal of wooing;
And then sit down to thrum the strain,
As if you’d never rise again—
The least Cecilia-like of things:
Remember that the saint has wings.
I’ve known Miss Strummel pause an hour,
Ere she could “Pluck the Fairest Flower,”
Yet without hesitation, she