How sad is my heart when the north wind is blowing
          Around the old church where the dull preacher rants.
Young Susie is stunted, while Johnny is growing.
          I'll have to procure him a new pair of pants.

Yet Susie is healthy while Johnny is sickly.
          I cannot decide what to do. I am loth
To punish, and yet I must move along quickly—
          Poor Susie, poor Johnny, I'll flagellate both.

Go question the neighboring nabobs, alarm them.
          Pray, why does deformity thrive? Guinea pigs
Live longer tho ailing and nothing can harm them;
          Some Hercules often his sepulchre digs.

My dear little Johnny sleeps under the pansy
          Whilst Susie the stunted works hard at the tub.
The preacher is wearing his buttonhole tansy,
          We'll sound the Hosanna, one rub-a-dub-dub!

Come, sing, give all praise to the jackass the laggard,
          The sick pussy cat and all mangy dogs thrive.
The fiddle string always is better when ragged.
          The littlest bee is the head of the hive.

The riding whip hangs in the quaint cozy corner,
          Cute relic of many corrections from me.
I've done my full duty and now I'm chief mourner,
          My comfort is big and my conscience is free.

Then go to the devil, all critics of teachers,
          I don't give a damn and it's no use to howl.
My right arm is aching. The dear little creatures
          I spank, all declare I'm a darling old owl.

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