134 THE TITMOUSE. 
His work unto him is no trouble—behold 
For one moment his motions, so tricksy and 
bold. 
How he twists, how he turns with a harlequin 
grace ! 
He can’t lift a feather without a grimace ; 
He carries the moss in his bill with an air; 
And he laughs at the spider he robs of his lair. 
See his round, burley head, that is like a Friar 
Tuck, 
And his glancing black eye that is worthy of 
Puck ; 
Saw you ever a merrier creature than he? 
Oh, no!—make him welcome, as welcome can 
be! 
His nest now is finished with fine cobweb thread, 
And the eggs are laid in it, white, speckled with 
red ; 
Now knock at the wall, or rap loud on the 
pane, 
Hark! what is that rapping so briskly again! 
