THIS is young Rub-a-dub-dub,

And his uncle, Thrum-thrum-thrum, Who plays his guitar, while the cub

Performs on the single drum;

And the people turn out, with a merry shout, Where the two musicians come.

For Rub-a-dub-dub can play

A tune that's ne'er forgot;

It makes in a magical way

The potatoes to dance in the pot.

(As fact don't receive it-I shouldn't believe it If I had not been on the spot.)

And Thrum-thrum-thrum can boast Such wondrous skill and wit, At the sound of his lute, the roast Turns round upon the spit. (Delusion you ween it?-if I had not seen it I would not believe it a bit!)

So, when Rub-a-dub-dub they see,
The housewives ne'er look glum;
And as for his uncle, he

Is always free to come;

But the turnspit cur, as I can aver,

Thinks highest of Thrum-thrum-thrum.
-TOM HOOD.