Tuesday, May 17, 2016

A BATHIC

There was a labourer of Bath
who got so drunk he propounded
he’d rather sleep on the hearth
For with stairs he was confounded 
All night he’d go up two down two 
till his little legs were tired 
So would he turn fall 
in a heap and go to sleep
By
a dying fire
he did
expire.

©MRL May ’16