  GOOD morrow, Little Stranger, Good morrow, Baby dear! Good morrow, too, Mrs. Grainger, And what do you do here? With your boxes, caps, and cap-strings, Drowsy, hazard-hap things, And love of good cheer? I’m a little boy that goes, ma’am, Straight to the point; You said that my nose, ma’am, Would soon be out of joint; But my nose keeps its place, ma’am— The middle of my face, ma’am; It is a nose of grace, ma’am— Aroint thee, aroint! GOOD morrow, Little Stranger, A girl, or a boy? Good morrow, Mrs. Grainger— Where are you, ma’am?—ahoy! Here’s all things in their proper place, And people likewise, The laundry-maid in the copper-place, The skylark in the skies! Here’s love for Mamma, And love for Papa; Here’s a penny for a scavenger, And a bag for the blooming lavender, And a rope for Don’t Care, And a kiss for the little Baby, And one for a pretty lady With a diamond in her hair! |
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