pearl of minstrelsy, A bud of blushing beauty, For whom proud nobles sigh, And

con 8va..

with each other vie, To do her menial's duty. A suitor lowly born, With

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hopeless passion torn, And poor beyond concealing, Hath dar'd for her to pine, At

that which love hath taught, For Love hath been his tutor. Oh! pity, pity me! Our

SONG.

By ARTHUR SULLIVAN.

I'm called little But-ter-cup, Dear lit-tle But- ter cup, Tho' I could nev-er tell why,

But still I'm call'd Butter-cup, Poor lit-tle But-ter-cup, Sweet lit-tle But-ter- cup,