THE ANSWER.
Mr. Clump, I would have you to know,
That your stuff will only work woe,
As to all cobblers I’m a terrible foe,
And so writes Kitty O’Grizzle.
With your awl you may peg till all’s blue,
And with knife cut old soles in two,
For I will have nothing to do,
But only with Tommy O’Twizzle.
So now, Clump, go stich your leather,
And wax the two odd ends together,
For either in foul or fair weather,
I’ll cuddle with Tommy O’Twizzle.
Each night and each morn I’ll entwine,
As close as the wax to the line,
About and around my own Valentine,
My jewel, my boy, my Tommy O’Twizzle.