They come to me (a poor old chap!)
And take one room—mostly the same;
A quiet spot, they say, for Nap:
(But "Crib's" their real game.)
Their luggage is a smallish trunk,
A whopping walking-stick—alway!
When for a month they've fed and drunk,
I gently hint at pay.
They say, "Why, certainly! They mean
To dwell some months beneath my roof.