Off he sped to Baths of Botton,
Tasted once again the pleasures
Of a bath you can lie down in.
Though the soap was green and hardy,
Though the towels weren’t all they might be,
Even though the place was dirty,
It was better than a bucket.
Good and hot he made the water,
Lay and splashed for half-an-hour,
Whistling snatches of a rag-time.