It is cruel, Mr. Ninkum,
Thus to bother Bob O’Linkum—
I had thought the meadow mine,
With its blossoms all so fine,
And I made my little nest
’Neath the clover, all so blest.
But you come, oh naughty Ninkum,
All unheeding Bob O’Linkum—
And you swing your saucy blade
Where my little nest is made—