Herbert Hay
by
Cyril Fletcher
This is the tale of Herbert Hay,
Who dined on whale meat every day,
His missis cried, 'It makes me quake
The way you scoff that ponky steak!
For when you walks into the room
It smells like Billingsgate in Bloom!
And every time I kiss you Herbert,
It's cold and clammy like a turbot!'
And even more annoyed she grew
When waking up at half past two
She found the eiderdown depressed
By a moggie on her husband's chest
Who tapped his nose with playful paws
Intoxicated by his snores.
One day in the bathroom, with surprise
She cried, 'I can't believe my eyes
Can't you see the plaster's peeling,
Must you gargle on the ceiling!'
For, as he tilted back his snout
He squirted like a water spout.
He dived in the bath with whale-like flick
And cried, 'Look out, I'm Moby Dick!'
So Mrs. H. that afternoon
Went out and bought a large harpoon,
Then in wellingtons and her sou'wester,
Crying, 'Whippet Quick' like Charlie Chester
She caught him with a hearty lunge
Between the loofah and the sponge.
Now Bert's lost his taste for whale you'll find,
Cos this left its mark upon his mind.
And if they ever have a row
His missis does the spouting now.
The end