Part 18 (1/2)

My Baltimore Belle, my Queen of the Prairie, Now, why are your ladys.h.i.+ps looking so cross?

Lord b.u.t.terfly, see!

And Sir Honey de Bee, Have deserted them both for your sweet cousin Moss.

All! Marechal Niel, I am glad to observe, sir, You train up your buds in the way they should go, All b.u.t.toned up close; while careless Niphetos Lets her children go fluttering to and fro.

You whitest beauty, what is your name, now?

”Snow Queen?” Ay, and it suits you well!

And yonder, I see, Is my friend Cherokee, Who will not stop climbing, his name to tell; And hero and there are blus.h.i.+ng and blowing Crimson and yellow and white and pink; Pale or angry, gleaming or glowing.

The whole world's turning to roses, I think.

Oh! fair is the rose on the vine, on the vine, And sweet is the rose on the tree; But there's only one Rose That has ten little toes, And she is the Rose for me.

Come, put on your calyx, Rosy Posy, Put on your calyx and come with me; For if you are my daughter, it stands to reason, Your own Mother Rosebush I must be.

THE FIVE LITTLE PRINCESSES.

Five little princesses started off to school, Following their noses, because it was the rule; But one nose turned up, and another nose turned down, So all these little princesses were lost in the town.

Poor little princesses cannot find their way.

Naughty little noses, to lead them astray!

Poor little princesses, sadly they roam; Naughty little noses, pray lead them home!

THE HORNET AND THE BEE.

Said the hornet to the bee, ”Pray you, will you marry me?

Will you be my little wife, For to love me all my life?

You shall have a velvet cloak, And a bonnet with a poke.

You shall sit upon a chair With a cabbage in your hair.

You shall ride upon a horse, If you fancy such a course.

You shall feed on venison pasty In a manner trig and tasty; Devilled bones and apple-cores, If you like them, shall be yours.

You shall drink both rum and wine, If you only will be mine.

Pray you, will you marry me?”

Said the hornet to the bee.

Said the bee unto the hornet, ”Your proposal, sir, I scorn it.

Marry one devoid of money, Who can't make a drop of honey?

Cannot even play the fiddle, And is pinched up in the middle?

Nay, my love is set more high.

c.o.c.kychafer's bride am I.

c.o.c.kychafer whirring loud, Frisking free and prancing proud, c.o.c.kychafer blithe and gay, He hath stole my heart away.

Him alone I mean to marry, So no longer you need tarry.