Well, honest John, how fare you now at home?
The spring is come, and birds are building nests
The old co*k-robin to the sty is come
With olive feathers and its ruddy breast
And the old co*k, with wattles and red comb
Struts with the hens, and seems to like some best
Then crows, and looks about for little crumbs
Swept out by little folks an hour ago
The pigs sleep in the sty; the bookman comes
The little boy lets home-close nesting go
And pockets tops and taws, where daisies blow
To look at the new number just laid down
With lots of pictures, and good stories too
And Jack the Giant-k**er's high renown