It wasn't me he married, but my orchard;
And so I keep him tinkling at the bell
From the first glint of daylight until sunset,
To scare the birds, and serve him out as well.

The birds in June are mighty early risers:
And he must rise at dawn, if he's to sell
A single cherry: and, on rainy mornings,
How I lie chuckling at the tinkling bell!