To and from the flat in Duke Street,
Like a chain of ants hard at it
Storing rations for the winter.
“One thing more,” cried Tiadatha,
“One thing more ere I am perfect.
I must have a sword to carry
In a jolly leather scabbard.”
So he called the son of Wilkin,
Wilkin’s son who dwelt in Pall Mall,
Bade him make a sword and scabbard.