e
And bulging eyes are all that shows
Above it, as he puffs and blows!
And now--to 'scape the scathing
Of that black host of furious bees
His nose and eyes he fain would grease
And bobs below those golden seas
Like an old woman bathing.

_Chorus:_ Old Mother Hubbard bathing!

And now he struggles, all in vain,
To reach some little bough again;
But, though he heaves with might and main,
This honey holds his ribs, sirs,
So tight, a barque might sooner try
To steer a cargo through the sky
Than Bill, thus honey-logged, to fly
By flopping of his jib, sirs!

_Chorus:_ His tops'l and his jib, sirs!

Like Oberon in the hive his beard
With wax and honey all besmeared
Would make the crescent moon afeard
That now is sailing brightly
Right o'er his leafy donjon-keep!
But that she knows him sunken deep,
And that his tower is straight and steep,
She would not smile so lightly.

_Chorus:_ Look down and smile so lightly.

She smiles in that small heavenly space,
Ringed with the tree-trunk's leafy grace,
While upward grins his ghastly face
As if some wild-wood Satyr,
Some gnomish Ptolemy should dare
Up that dark optic tube to stare,
As all unveiled she floated there,
Poor maiden moon, straight at her!

_Chorus:_ The buccaneering Satyr!

But there, till some one help him out,
Black Bill must stay, without a doubt.
"_Help! Help!_" he gives a muffled shout.
None but the white owls hear it!
_Who? Whoo?_ they cry: Bill answers "ME!
_I am stuck fast in this great tree!
Bring me a rope, good Timothy!
There's honey, lads, we'll share it!_"

_Chorus:_ Ay, now he wants to share it.

Then, thinking help may come with morn,