[PINAFORE RHYMES.—(Concluded.)]
Fly away, you naughty bee,
With your ugly sting,
Buzzing round my sister's head,
Such a little thing!
If you hurt her, naughty bee,
With your ugly sting,
I will catch you in my apron,
And pull off every wing.
What are you staring at, idle Fritz?
The baby alone is lying.
What if she is? She won't be a bit
The worse for a little crying.
Four pretty lilies, just as white as snow,
Just out of reach in the water grow;
Four little children standing on the shore—
Four little children want the lilies four.
"White little lilies," cry the children four,
"Little white lilies, can't you come ashore?"
White little lilies answer not a word,
Though they nestle softly, just as if they heard.
Four little lilies staid right where they were;
Four little children couldn't make them stir.