I'll tell thee everything I can:
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.'Who are you, aged man?' I said.'And how is it you live?'And his answer trickled through my head,
Like water through a sieve.
He said, 'I look for
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men,' he said,'Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread —A trifle, if you please.'But I was thinking of a
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a
That they could not be seen.
So having no reply to
To what the old man said,
I cried'Come, tell me how you live!'And thumped him on the head.
His accents mild took up the tale:
He said 'I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they
Rowland's Macassar-Oil —Yet twopence-halfpenny is
They give me for my toil.'But I was thinking of a
To feed oneself on batter,
And so go on from day to day 'Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue:'Come, tell me how you live,' I cried,'And what it is you do!'He said, 'I hunt for haddocks'
Among the heather bright,
And work them into
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.'I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs:
I sometimes search the grassy
For wheels of Hansom-cabs.
And that's the way' (he gave a wink)'By which I get my wealth —And very gladly will I
Your Honour's noble health.'I heard him then, for I had
Completed my
To keep the Menai bridge from
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that
Might drink my noble health.
And now, if e'er by chance I
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toeA very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me
Of that old man I used to know —Whose look was mild, whose speech was
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo-That summer evening long ago,
A-sitting on a gate.
The name of the song is called 'Haddocks' Eyes.'""Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?".
Alice said,trying to feel interested."No, you don't understand," the knight said, looking a little vexed.
That's what the name is called.
The name really is 'The Aged,
Man.'""Then I ought to have said 'That's what the song is called'?" Alicecorrected herself."No, you oughtn't: thats quite another thing!
The song is called 'Waysand Means': but that's only what it is called, you know!""Well, what is the song, then?" said Alice, who was, by this timecompletely bewilderred."I was coming to that," the Knight said. "The song really
On a Gate': amd the tune's my own invention."- Lewis Carrol,
Through the Looking Glass
