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!