My lady has a stylish bonnet,
Bedecked with ribands, gay and bright,
And with a song bird perched upon it,
With tiny wings outspread for flight.
Its little beak is opened wide,
As though in its most joyous trill
The harmless thing had suddenly died.
One waits to hear it carol still.
My lady has a tender heart,
She feeds the poor, instructs the young,
At tale of woe her tears will start,
And words of kindness throng her tongue.
My lady’s eyes are full of glee,
But cloud and with just anger flash
If in her walk she chance to see
Some poor beast cringe beneath the lash.
My lady has a stylish bonnet,
Bedecked with ribands gay and bright,
But with a slaughtered bird upon it.—
My gentle lady, is this right?