By gardeners thyme is tied, ’tis true, when Spring is in its prime,
But time or tide won’t wait for you, if you are tied for time.
There now you see, my little dears, the way to make a pun;
A trick which you, through coming years, should sedulously shun.
The fault admits of no defense, for wheresoe’er ’tis found,
You sacrifice the sound for sense, the sense is never sound.
So let your words and actions too, one single meaning prove,
And, just in all you say or do, you’ll gain esteem and love:
In mirth and play no harm you’ll know, when duty’s task is done;
But parents ne’er should let you go unpunished for a pun.