I never killed a bear because I always thought them critters was So kindo’ cute; Though round my shack they often c… I’d raise my rifle and take aim,

Said a monkey unto me: “How I’m glad I am not you! See, I swing from tree to tree, Something that you cannot do. In gay greenery I drown;

I’d rather be the Jester than the… I’d rather jangle cap and bells th… I’d rather make his royal ribs wit… Than see him sitting in the suds a… I’d rather be the Court buffoon t…

Said Hongray de la Glaciere unto… "I want to take a wife mon Père,"… And whose, my son?” he slyly said;… Cried, “Fi! Papa, I mean —to wed… The Marquis de la Glaciere respon…

Mary and I were twenty—two When we were wed; A well—matched pair, right smart t… The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true

Time, the Jester, jeers at you; Your life’s a fleeting breath; Your birthday’s flimsy I.O.U. To that old devil, Death. And though to glory you attain,

The man above was a murderer, the… And I lay there in the bunk betwe… A weary armful of skin and bone, w… My feet were froze, and the lifele… The little flesh that clung to my…

They’re hanging Bill at eight o’… And millions will applaud. He killed, and so they have to kil… Such is the will of God. His brother Tom is on my bed

You want me to tell you a story, a… Of our thin red kharki 'eroes, out… Out there where the bombs are bust… and the cannons like 'ell—doors sl… Just order another drink, boys, an…

Oh, it is good to drink and sup, And then beside the kindly fire To smoke and heap the faggots up, And rest and dream to heart’s desi… Oh, it is good to ride and run,

She I’m waiting for the man I hope to… I’ve never seen him —that’s the fu… I promised I would wear a rose of… Pinned on my coat above my flutter…

My neighbour has a field of wheat And I a rood of vine; And he will give me bread to eat, And I will give him wine. And so we are a jolly pair,

Old Codger Of garden truck he made his fare, As his bright eyes bore witness; Health was his habit and his care, His hobby human fitness.

A very humble pen I ply Beneath a cottage thatch; And in the sunny hours I try To till my cabbage patch; And in the gloaming glad am I