An Old Song<br>What ails you so melancholy, quoth John, so cross?<br>You seem all snappish, uneasy, and fretful.<br>Lie with us on the clover, 'tis fair and sheltered:<br>Come nearer; you're rubbing your back; why so ill tempered?
Lie with us on the clover, 'tis fair and sheltered:Come nearer; you’re rubbing your back; why so ill tempered?