Go, get thee to bed and repose—
To sit up so late is a scandal;
But ere you have ta’en off your clothes,
Be sure that you put out that candle.
Ri fol de rol tol de rol lol.
My stars, in the air here’s a knife!—
I’m sure it can not be a hum;
I’ll catch at the handle, add’s life!
And then I shall not cut my thumb.
I’ve got him!—no, at him again!