They drew the sheets, and tucked them in,
And whispered: ‘Poor old boy—Good-night!’
He murmured: ‘Boys, oh, deary, deary,
That punch was strong,’ he said;
He said: ‘I am aweary, aweary—
Thank heaven, I’ve got to bed!’
An American magazine published some years ago a series of burlesques of the old nursery rhymes, of which we give specimens:
Little Jack Horner,
Of Latin no scorner,
In the second declension did spy