AH, little ranting Johnny, | |
| For ever blithe and bonny, | |
| And singing nonny, nonny, | |
| With hat just thrown upon ye; | |
| Or whistling like the thrushes, | 5 |
| With a voice in silver gushes; | |
| Or twisting random posies | |
| With daisies, weeds, and roses; | |
| And strutting in and out so, | |
| Or dancing all about so; | 10 |
| With cock-up nose so lightsome, | |
| And sidelong eyes so brightsome, | |
| And cheeks as ripe as apples, | |
| And head as rough as Dapple’s, | |
| And arms as sunny shining | 15 |
| As if their veins they ’d wine in, | |
| And mouth that smiles so truly | |
| Heaven seems to have made it newly— | |
| It breaks into such sweetness | |
| With merry-lipped completeness; | 20 |
| Ah, Jack, ah Gianni mio, | |
| As blithe as Laughing Trio! | |
| —Sir Richard, too, you rattler, | |
| So christened from the Tattler, | |
| My Bacchus in his glory, | 25 |
| My little Cor-di-fiori, | |
| My tricksome Puck, my Robin, | |
| Who in and out come bobbing, | |
| As full of feints and frolics as | |
| That fibbing rogue Autolycus, | 30 |
| And play the graceless robber on | |
| Your grave-eyed brother Oberon,— | |
| Ah Dick, ah Dolce-riso, | |
| How can you, can you be so? | |
| |
| One cannot turn a minute, | 35 |
| But mischief—there you ’re in it: | |
| A-getting at my books, John, | |
| With mighty bustling looks, John, | |
| Or poking at the roses, | |
| In midst of which your nose is; | 40 |
| Or climbing on a table, | |
| No matter how unstable, | |
| And turning up your quaint eye | |
| And half-shut teeth, with “Mayn’t I?” | |
| Or else you ’re off at play, John, | 45 |
| Just as you ’d be all day, John, | |
| With hat or not, as happens; | |
| And there you dance, and clap hands, | |
| Or on the grass go rolling, | |
| Or plucking flowers, or bowling, | 50 |
| And getting me expenses | |
| With losing balls o’er fences; | |
| Or, as the constant trade is, | |
| Are fondled by the ladies | |
| With “What a young rogue this is!” | 55 |
| Reforming him with kisses; | |
| Till suddenly you cry out, | |
| As if you had an eye out, | |
| So desperately tearful, | |
| The sound is really fearful; | 60 |
| When lo! directly after, | |
| It bubbles into laughter. | |
| |
| Ah rogue! and do you know, John, | |
| Why ’t is we love you so, John? | |
| And how it is they let ye | 65 |
| Do what you like and pet ye, | |
| Though all who look upon ye, | |
| Exclaim, “Ah, Johnny, Johnny!” | |
| It is because you please ’em | |
| Still more, John, than you tease ’em; | 70 |
| Because, too, when not present, | |
| The thought of you is pleasant; | |
| Because, though such an elf, John, | |
| They think that if yourself, John, | |
| Had something to condemn too, | 75 |
| You ’d be as kind to them too; | |
| In short, because you ’re very | |
| Good-tempered, Jack, and merry; | |
| And are as quick at giving | |
| As easy at receiving; | 80 |
| And in the midst of pleasure | |
| Are certain to find leisure | |
| To think, my boy, of ours, | |
| And bring us lumps of flowers. | |
| |
| But see, the sun shines brightly; | 85 |
| Come, put your hat on rightly, | |
| And we ’ll among the bushes, | |
| And hear your friends, the thrushes; | |
| And see what flowers the weather | |
| Has rendered fit to gather; | 90 |
| And, when we home must jog, you | |
| Shall ride my back, you rogue you,— | |
| Your hat adorned with fine leaves, | |
| Horse-chestnut, oak, and vine-leaves, | |
| And so, with green o’erhead, John, | 95 |
| Shall whistle home to bed, John. | |
| |
