II

      There was a naughty boy

      And a naughty boy was he,

      For nothing would he do

      But scribble poetry-

      He took

      An ink stand

      In his hand

      And a pen

      Big as ten

      In the other,

      And away

      In a pother

      He ran

      To the mountains

      And fountains

      And ghostes

      And postes

      And witches

      And ditches

      And wrote

      In his coat

      When the weather

      Was cool,

      Fear of gout,

      And without

      When the weather

      Was warm-

      Och the charm

      When we choose

      To follow one's nose

      To the north,

      To the north,

      To follow one's nose

      To the north!