TIT FOR TAT

Have you been catching of fish, Tom Noddy?

Have you snared a weeping hare?

Have you whistled,‘ No Nunny,' and gunned a poor bunny,

Or a blinded bird of the air?

Have you trod like a murderer through the green woods,

Through the dewy deep dingles and glooms,

While every small creature screamed shrill to Dame

Nature,

‘ He comes — and he comes!’?

Wonder I very much do, Tom Noddy,

If ever, when you are a-roam,

An Ogre from space will stoop a lean face

And lug you home:

Lug you home over his fence, Tom Noddy,

Of thorn-sticks nine yards high,

With your bent knees strung round his old iron gun

And your head dan-dangling by:

And hang you up stiff on a hook, Tom Noddy,

From a stone-cold pantry shelf,

Whence your eyes will glare in an empty stare,

Till you're cooked yourself!