Merrily swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link, Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest.
Hear him call in his merry note: Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link, Spink, spank, spink; Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,
Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link, Spink, spank, spink;
Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat: Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link,
Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! Chee, chee, chee.
Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might:
Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood. Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link, Spink, spank, spink; This new life is likely to be
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care;
Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air: Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link, Spink, spank, spink;
Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes: Bob-o’ - link, bob-o’ - link,
Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee.
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