Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/37
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
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Willie had a little Wolff,
Its fleece was black as ink,
And every time that Willie lied,
That Wolff was sure to wink;
It looked as harmless as could be
Dressed in a pet lamb's hide,
But everybody laughed to see
A hairy Wolff inside.
Its fleece was black as ink,
And every time that Willie lied,
That Wolff was sure to wink;
It looked as harmless as could be
Dressed in a pet lamb's hide,
But everybody laughed to see
A hairy Wolff inside.
Sing a song of war-tales,
Each a Teuton lie;
Four-and-twenty canards
In a neutral pie;
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing;
I never saw a dish of duck
So wild upon the wing.
Each a Teuton lie;
Four-and-twenty canards
In a neutral pie;
When the pie was opened
The birds began to sing;
I never saw a dish of duck
So wild upon the wing.
O dear, what can the matter be?
O dear, what can the matter be?
O dear, what can the matter be?
Willie is out of the fair.
O dear, what can the matter be?
O dear, what can the matter be?
Willie is out of the fair.
He promised to bring me a ribbon from Paris,
A ribbon, a tricolor ribbon, from Paris,
He promised to bring me a ribbon from Paris,
But somehow he never got there.
A ribbon, a tricolor ribbon, from Paris,
He promised to bring me a ribbon from Paris,
But somehow he never got there.