Is that the way folks learn to sing?
I ne’er imagined such a thing.
Ah me! why what a time they make!
They really make my ear-drums ache;
Why, what a dreadful noise they keep—
They waked me from a nice sound sleep.
MASTER.
Beat! beat your time, and mind the board,
Was such a discord ever heard?
Put up your chestnuts, boys, and beat,—
You did not come to school to eat.
Come, if you can’t sing do re mi,
Follow as I sing one, two, three.
BOYS.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,—
He! he! he!—eight, nine, ten, ’leven.
MASTER.
Boys! mind your manners, or go home,
And learn them ere again you come.
PUPILS.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.
MASTER.