The mud was over all our boots—it hail'd, too, as it chanced,
And I fell in a puddle, mother, while I with Robin danced.
(Five verses omitted).
"So, on the whole, I cannot say I'm glad—no more can you,
You call'd me early on the first, though then I begg'd you to;
In truth, could I have known, it would have been so cold and wet,
I'd have told the lads and lasses, mother, another Queen to get.
"But, there, it is too late to fret—the thing is over now,
But not again will your poor child thus play the fool, I vow;
Another year, if spring is late, I'll stay in bed all day,