That's why I have brought down this Holiday Task.
Though slumber-inviting the weather—the weather,
I'll turn my true hands, whilst in sunshine I bask,
To the use of the brush and wash-leather—wash-leather!
It's got a bit rusty from sheer want of use;
Though they tell me I'm promptish at pouncing—at pouncing.
Ah me! E'en an angel comes in for abuse,
Or me they would not be denouncing—denouncing.
A crocodile's sure to be down on the Gag,
And Harcourt's a fair alligator—ligator;