Weeny white fish,
Our mother’s dishing out!”
Eels have a flavour (and a baddish one) of oil.
“When we have shuffled down their mortal coil,
What dreams may come!” what horrid nightmares neigh,
Gallop or squat,
Trample or trot,
Vanishing not
Till break of day!
“Never start nothing,” says the motto in our pub: