Until I had my hoop and net,
As you shall quickly hear;
Oh, they're my delight, when the sun shines bright,
In the season of the year.
To rove a truant gay and free
Across the open moor,
And chase the painted butterflies
As they fly from flow'r to flow'r;
To wave about my nice green net,
And run I know not where:
Oh! 'tis my delight, as the sun shines bright,
In the season of the year.
Full many a gay bright butterfly
I caught with stealthy bound,
And oft I pull'd them limb from limb,
And left them on the ground,
And never thought how cruel 'twas
Their little wings to tear:
Oh! 'twas my delight, as the sun shone bright,
In the season of the year.
But roving once across the moor,
A truant free and gay,
The sober dame who ruled the school
Did chance to pass that way;
And spying me, full loud did cry,
Young miss, what brings you here?
Oh! 'twas small delight, as the sun shone bright,
To stand and quake for fear.
