Merry little baa-lambs sporting on the grass, Playing ring-a-roses, dancing as you pass, Crying, "Jones has topped his brassie shot! What a way to play! Now then, all together, boys--Me-e-eh!" Pretty little woollies, white as driven snow, Following your mothers, skipping as you go, Crying, "Jones is in the bunker! What a lot he has to say! Give it all together, boys--Me-e-e-eh!" Harbingers of Springtime! innocently fair, Frisking on the greensward, leaping in the air, Crying, "Jones is in the whins again! He's off his drive to-day; Once more let him have it, boys--Me-e-e-e-eh!" Silly little baa-lambs! If you only knew, One day you'll be fatter and I'll have the laugh on you, Crying, "Every time I foozled they bleated with delight. Now they're lamb-and-mint-sauce. Serves the beggars right!" ALGOL. * * * * * [Illustration: BORROWED THUNDER. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY HANGING ON BEHIND ME LIKE THAT?" "I'VE BROKEN MY HORN, OLD TOFF, AND I THOUGHT YOU COULD TOOT FOR TWO."] * * * * * End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Punch, or the London Charivari, Vol. 156, May 28, 1919., by Various