"Come, now, Johnny, sing me a song—
Sing me a song," said Mabel.
"I will," said Johnny, whose voice was strong,
"For I'm the boy that is able."
So he sang, and whistled, and sang again,
Till all the woods were a-ringing,
And Mabel frowned, and began to complain,
"Why, Johnny, what's that you're singing?"
"Don't you like it?" said Johnny Stout
(Mabel her laugh must smother),
As he straightened himself in his roundabout,
And said, "I'll sing you another."
He sang and whistled with might and main,
Till Mabel's ears were a-ringing,
And she stopped them up, and exclaimed again
"Why, Johnny, what are you singing?"
"That's Pinafore," said Johnny Stout,
Who thought himself quite clever;
"You've heard it often enough, no doubt."
Said Mabel, "N—hardly ever."
And she made up her mind that never again
Would she ask Minnie Stout's big brother
To sing her a song, when 'twas very plain
He knew not one tune from another.