  AHA! a traitor in the camp, A rebel strangely bold,— A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, Not more than four years old! To think that I, who’ve ruled alone So proudly in the past, Should be ejected from my throne By my own son at last! He trots his treason to and fro, As only babies can, And says he’ll be his mamma’s beau When he’s a “gweat, big man”! You stingy boy! you’ve always had A share in mamma’s heart. Would you begrudge your poor old dad The tiniest little part? That mamma, I regret to see, Inclines to take your part,— As if a dual monarchy Should rule her gentle heart! But when the years of youth have sped, The bearded man, I trow, Will quite forget he ever said He’d be his mamma’s beau. Renounce your treason, little son, Leave mamma’s heart to me; For there will come another one To claim your loyalty. And when that other comes to you, God grant her love may shine Through all your life, as fair and true As mamma’s does through mine! |
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