And you cut the blooming clover,
Which did wrap my young ones over.
Get you gone, oh ugly Ninkum—
Leave the field to Bob O’Linkum;
Let him on his light wing hover
O’er the summer scented clover—
Let him sing his merry song,
And he’ll thank you all day long.
MERRY’S MUSEUM.
VOLUME IV.—No. 2.
