Why ees, aunt Anne's a little staid,
But kind an' merry, poor wold maid!
If we don't cut her heart wi' slights,
She'll zit an' put our things to rights,
Upon a hard day's work, o' nights;
But zet her up, she's jis' lik' vier,
An' woe betide the woone that's nigh 'er.
When she is in her tantrums.
She'll toss her head, a-steppen out
Such strides, an' fling the pails about;
An' slam the doors as she do goo,
An' kick the cat out wi' her shoe,
Enough to het her off in two.
The bwoys do bundle out o' house,
A-lassen they should get a towse,
When aunt is in her tantrums.
She whurr'd, woone day, the wooden bowl
In such a veag at my poor poll;
It brush'd the heaeir above my crown,
An' whizz'd on down upon the groun',
An' knock'd the bantam cock right down,
But up he sprung, a-teaeken flight
Wi' tothers, clucken in a fright,
Vrom aunt in such a tantrum!
But Dick stole in, an' reach'd en down
The biggest blather to be voun',
An' crope an' put en out o' zight
Avore the vire, an' plimm'd en tight
An crack'd en wi' the slice thereright
She scream'd, an' bundled out o' house,
An' got so quiet as a mouse,—
It frighten'd off her tantrum.