SPRIG HAS CUB.

By Edwin Carty Ranck

Sprig, Sprig — Oh lovely Sprig!

Oh, hast thou cub to stay?

Add wilt the little birdies sig

Throughout the livelog day?

What bessage dost thou brig to be,

Fair Lady of by dreabs —

Dost whisper of the babblig brook

Ad fishig poles ad streabs?

Those happy days have cub agaid,

The sweetest of the year,

Whed bad cad raise ad appetite

Ad wholesub thirst for beer.

I've often thought id wudder, Sprig,

Of how the lily grows,

But the thig that's botherig be dow

Is how to sprig dew clothes.

Sprig, Sprig — Oh lovely Sprig!

By thoughts are all of you

I saw a robid yesterday —

How strange it seebs — ad dew!

I've got a dreadful cold, Fair Sprig,

Or else I'd sig to thee

Ad air frob Beddelssohd, perhaps,

Or “The Shade of the Old Apple Tree.”