Iii

The night arrived for trotter-shaking-- To Mother Swankey's snoozing-crib; Each downy cadger was seen taking His bit of muslin, or his rib. Twelve candles vos stuck into turnips, Suspended from the ceiling queer-- Bunn's blaze of triumph was all pickles To this wegetable shandileer. Tol, lol lol, etc.