For I am called Little Buttercup,—dear Little Buttercup, Though I never could tell why; But still I'm called Buttercup,—poor Little Buttercup, Sweet Little Buttercup I!
Fair moon, to thee I sing Bright regent of the heavens; Say, why is every thing Either at sixes or at sevens?
Aunt Jo's scrap-bag inside cover g
Aunt Jo's scrap-bag inside cover h
bill bobstay, the bos'n.
dick deadeye.
He is an Englishman: For he himself has said it, And it's greatly to his credit That he is an Englishman.
