No doubt they are yelping and yapping like mad;
In such hobbles cantankerous spleen lands—rous spleen lands.
I peacefully sprawl on the turf, and am glad;
The Blue Devils never reach Greenlands—reach Greenlands.
By Jove, they have led me a doose of a life!
Their conduct is sheer criminality—nality.
Here, though, thank Heaven, I'm far from the strife,
Here the wicked won't vex Old Morality—rality!
True, 'tisn't for long, a clear week at the most.
They would worry us out of our Whitsuntide—Whitsuntide.