THE TITMOUSE. 1385 
Tis the blithe mother-bird, all alive and alert, 
As her mate, every whit, is she comic and 
pert ; 
Rap you once,—she raps twice ;—she has no- 
thing to do, 
But to keep her eggs warm, and be neighbourly 
too ! 
Oh, what! did you say that the Titmouse was 
stealing, 
That he ate your pear-buds while he shammed 
to be reeling ; 
And nipped off the apricot-bloom in his fun ?— 
And that shortly you’ll end his career with a 
gun ! 
Oh! hold back your hand,—’twere a deed to 
repent ; 
Of your blame the poor fellow is quite inno- 
cent,— 
Stand back for one moment—anon he’ll be here, 
He believes you his friend, and he thinks not 
of fear. 
