How pleasant to know Mr Lear!

Who has written such volumes of stuff!

Some think him ill-tempered and queer,

But a few think him pleasant enough.

His mind is concrete and fastidious,

His nose is remarkably big;

His visage is more or less hideous,

His beard it resembles a wig.

He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,

Leastways if you reckon two thumbs;

Long ago he was one of the singers,

But now he is one of the dumbs.

He sits in a beautiful parlour,

With hundreds of books on the wall;

He drinks a great deal of Marsala,

But never gets tipsy at all.

He has many friends, laymen and clerical;

Old Foss is the name of his cat;

His body is perfectly spherical,

He weareth a runcible hat.

When he walks in a waterproof white,

The children run after him so!

Calling out, ‘He’s come out in his night —

Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!’

He weeps by the side of the ocean,

He weeps on the top of the hill;

He purchases pancakes and lotion,

And chocolate shrimps from the mill.

He reads but he cannot speak Spanish,

He cannot abide ginger-beer:

Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear![10]