A cat came fiddling out of a barn,
With a pair of bagpipes under her arm,
She could sing nothing but “Fiddle-de-de.
The mouse has married the bumble bee.”
Pipe, cat—dance, mouse—
We'll have a wedding at our good house.

(This quatrain is imagined as the caption under a picture of a rugged-looking cowboy seated upon a bale of hay.)
Carnation Milk is the best in the land;
Here I sit with a can in my hand--
No tits to pull, no hay to pitch,
You just punch a hole in the son of a bitch.

The careful angler chose his nook
At morning by the lilied brook,
And all the noon his rod he plied
By that romantic riverside.
Soon as the evening hours decline
Tranquilly he'll return to dine,
And, breathing forth a pious wish,
Will cram his belly full of fish.

A canner, exceedingly canny,
One morning remarked to his granny,
“A canner can can
Anything that he can,
But a canner can't can a can, can he?”

Candy
Is dandy
But liquor

Can I not sin, but thou wilt be
My private protonotary?

Can a sad song take the place of crying?
Can peering in the distance take the place of going home?
I think with longing of the old village,
my spirits downcast, fretful and forlorn
I want to go home but there's no one there,
I want to cross the river but there is no boat —
thoughts in my heart I can find no words for,
like cartwheels going round in my belly!

Call John the boatman, call, call again, For loud roars the
tempest and fast falls the rain. Johnny is a good man, he
sleeps so very sound, His oars are at rest and his
boat is aground. Red rolls the river, so rapid and so
deep; Well, the louder you call him, the faster he'll sleep!

Caged in old woods, whose reverend echoes wake
When the hern screams along the distant lake,
Her little heart oft flutters to be free,
Oft sighs to turn the unrelenting key.
In vain! the nurse that rusted relic wears,
Nor moved by gold—nor to be moved by tears;
And terraced walls their black reflection throw
On the green-mantled moat that sleeps below.

By death's favor
Here lies the engraver
And now I think o't
Where lies he not?
If the archangel look but where he lies
He ne'er will get translated to the skies.