Neath tile or thatch That man is rich Who has a scratch For every itch.

The codfish is a staple food For which I'm seldom in the mood. This fish is such an utter loss That people eat it with egg sauce.

A husband is a man who two minutes after his head touches the pillow is snoring like an overloaded omnibus.

I'm like a backward berry, Unripened on the vine, For all my friends are fifty, And I'm only forty-nine.

Some tortures are physical And some are mental, But the one that is both Is dental.

And you stagger down to break your fast. Greasy bacon and lacquered eggs And coffee composed of frigid dregs.

But children, hark! Your mother would rather, When you arrived, have been your father.