Viii

There is a curious boy, whose name Is Lumpy Loggerhead; His greatest joy is--oh, for shame!-- To spend his time in bed.

They fit with gongs alarum clocks That make your blood run chill; And they encourage crowing cocks Beneath his window-sill.

In vain the gongs,--his eyes are shut-- In vain the cocks do crow; Empty on him a water-butt, And he will say, “Hallo!”

But only in a drowsy style, And in a second more He sleeps--and, oh! to see him smile! And, oh! to hear him snore!

He seems to carry, all day long, Sleep in his very shape; And, though you may be brisk and strong, You often want to gape

When Lumpy Loggerhead comes near, Whose bed is all his joy. How glad I am he is not here, That very sleepy boy!