Than breezy downs to stroll on, rocks to climb up,
Weird labyrinthine caverns to explore?
(There's nothing else to do to fill the time up.)
Your honest face here earns an honest brown,
You ramble on for miles 'mid gorse and heather,
Sheep hold athletic sports upon the down
(Which makes the mutton taste as tough as leather).
The place is guiltless, too, of horrid piers,
And likewise is not Christy-Minstrel tooney;
No soul-distressing strains disturb your ears.