(Some one of all the brood), would wash and scour,
Rinse out a cess-pit, swab the kennel floor,
And water (liquor vitae, Lawson calls,
But I—I hold by whisky. Never mind;
I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, sir,
And missed the scrap o' blue at buttonhole),
Spring water was the needful at the time,
So they must climb the hill for 't. Well and good.
We all climb hills, I take it, on some quest,
Maybe for less than stinking (I forgot!