_Master Robert._ By Jingo, how the raindrops rush and clatter!
Ah, Primrose-gathering is not half so jolly
As once it used to be.

_Master Arthur._ Ah! my dear SOLLY,
The springs are now so awfully wet and cold,
The "cry" don't seem so fetching as of old.

[_Pipes up._

_Recitative_. "_Who will buy my pretty, pretty Pri-im-ro-o-ses!_
_All fresh gathered from the va-a-a-ll-ey?_"

_Master George._ The wet and cold have got into your throat,
A quaver and a crack on every note!

_Master Robert._ Don't aggravate each other, boys; 'tis wrong,
But while it rains _I_'ll tootle out a song:--
(_Sings._) The days we went a-Primrosing!

AIR--"_The days we went a-Gipsying!_"

The days are gone, the happy days
When _we_ were in our Spring;
When all the Primrose loved to praise,
And join its gathering.
Oh! we could sing like anything,
We felt the conqueror's glow,
In the days when we went Primrosing,
A long time ago.