Twinkle twinkle little star,

How I wonder what you are.

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Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright

In the forest of the night.

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My love is like a red, red rose

That's newly sprung in June.

My love is like a melody

That's sweetly played in tune.

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We romped until the pans

Slid from the kitchen shelf.

My mother's countenance

Could not unfrown itself.

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The moon was up, the lake was shining clear

Among the hoary mountains; from the shore

I push'd, and struck the oars and struck again

In cadence, and my little boat mov'd on

Even like a man who walks with stately step

Though bent on speed.

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All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain

Apply to me to keep them mad or vain.

Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws,

Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause.

Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,

And curses Wit, and Poetry, and Pope.

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Seek true religion. O where? Myrius,

Thinking her unhous'd here and fled from us,

Seeks her at Rome, there, because he doth know

That she was there a thousand years ago.

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A spouse I do hate,

For either she's false or she's jealous;

But give us a mate,

Who nothing will ask us, or tell us.

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