Weather it rains, or weather it snos;
And where it all cums from, noboddy nose.
The young swell Boatmen drest in white,
To their Mothers' arts must be a delite;
At roein or skullin the gals is sutch dabs,
For they makes no Fowls and they ketches no Crabs.
The payshent hangler sets in a punt,
Willee ketch kold? I hopes as he wunt.
I wotches him long, witch I states is fax,
He dont ketch nothin but Ticklebacks.