“ I'll go and peep at the Pimpernel, 
^ And see if she think the clouds look well; 
For if the sun shine, 
And 'tis like to he fine, 
I shall go to the fair, 
For my sweetheart is there: 
So, Pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky? 
If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I." 
Now the Pimpernel flower had folded up 
Her little gold star in her coral cup, 
And unto the maid 
Thus her warning said: 
“Though the sun smile down, 
There’s a gathering frown 
O’er the checkered blue of the clouded sky; 
So tarry at home, for a storm is nigh.” 
The maid first looked sad and then looked cross, 
Gave her foot a fling, and her head a toss; 
“ Say you so, indeed, 
You mean little weed ? 
You’re shut up for spite, 
For the blue sky is bright, 
To more credulous people your warnings tell. 
I’ll away to the fair;—good day, Pimpernel. 
