Then the “vittles” that lay all around me
Disappear’d in the wink of an eye.
Now, when my poor supper is over,
I spread myself out for a snore,
Oh! I dream of the fruits in the garden,
And think myself happy once more.
Oh! I wish I was home, though they quiz me
And jaw me from morning till night;
I’d finger the peach-trees around me—
The farmers should stare with affright.