How Bless'd The Heart That Has A

Ben Battle Was A Soldier Bold, And Used To War's Alarms, But A Cannon-ball Took Off His Legs, So He Laid Down His Arms.

No Sun, No Moon, No Morn, No Noon, No Dawn, No Dusk, No Proper Time Of Day, . . . . . . No Road, No Street, No T' Other Side The Way, . . . . . . No Shade, No Shine, No Butterflies, No Bees, No Fruits, No Flowers, No Leaves, No Buds.

Oh, If It Be To Choose And Call Thee Mine, Love, Thou Art Every Day My Valentine!

Whoe'er Has Gone Thro' London Street, Has Seen A Butcher Gazing At His Meat, And How He Keeps Gloating Upon A Sheep's Or Bullock's Personals, As If His Own; How He Admires His Halves And Quarters--and His Calves, As If In Truth Upon His Own Legs Grown.

A Man That's Fond Precociously Of Stirring , :;:; Must Be A Spoon.