Hoaks need a quibble now and again,
Their grivs need uplifting well before ten;
And just before one they must have a blitt,
A shumble or two, and then if they're fit,
A quick frotty-spickle down on the field
Until they are spurtled or almost congealed;
But a rousing dambiddle at quarter to nine
Checks all their quibbles and makes them feel
fine.
At ten on the spot, they must cloot their flocks
Prepare for the night and lock up their socks;
And then, after twelve, they fall off to sleep,
Counting their quibbles instead of their sheep.
