Than to plague and be drunk by me.
I was a child, a mere bit of a child,
When I lived in that cot by the sea;
But I hated with hate which was more than hate
That horrible Camomile Tea.
A hate which was visible, I have no doubt,
To the eyes of my—Aunt Magee.
And this is the reason, I happen to know,
Why she always was down on me,
Whenever I had the least malady, filling