Tit For Tat

Have you been catching fish, Tom Noddy? Have you snared a weeping hare? Have you whistled 'No Nunny' and gunned a poor bunny, Or blinded a bird of the air? Have you trod like a murderer through the green woods, Through the dewy deep dingles and glooms, While every small creature screamed shrill to Dame Nature 'He comes - and he comes!'? Wonder I very much do,Tom Noddy, If ever, when off you roam, An ogre from space will stoop a lean face, And lug you home: Lug you home over his fence, Tom Noddy, Of thorn-sticks nine yards high, With your bent knees strung round his old iron gun And your head a dan-dangling by: And hung you up stiff on a hook, Tom Noddy, From a stone-cold pantry shelf, Whence your eyes will glare in an empty stare, Till you are cooked yourself!