Thomas Hood

The Quaker loves an ample brim,
A hat that bows to no Salaam;
And dear the beaver read more

The Quaker loves an ample brim,
A hat that bows to no Salaam;
And dear the beaver is to him
As if it never made a dam.

Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!

Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold!

A man perfect to the finger tips.

A man perfect to the finger tips.

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young and so read more

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young and so fair!

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.

Sweet are the little brooks that run
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun,
Singing in soothing tones.