Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Hot Day
Hot Day.
What a plague's a summer breakfast,
Eat whate'er you will!
A roll is but a nasty thing,
And toast is nastier still.
Eat whate'er you will!
A roll is but a nasty thing,
And toast is nastier still.
Then how to pass the time away
Till dinner—there's the doubt:
You're hot if you stay in the house—
Your hot if you go out.
Till dinner—there's the doubt:
You're hot if you stay in the house—
Your hot if you go out.
When dinner comes, oh, help us all!
Such frying! such a stew!
You're hot if you don't touch a bit—
Your hotter if you do.
Such frying! such a stew!
You're hot if you don't touch a bit—
Your hotter if you do.
Then after dinner what to do?
No knowing where to rove—
The gentlemen are hot below,
The ladies hot above.
No knowing where to rove—
The gentlemen are hot below,
The ladies hot above.
And now the kettle comes again;
That's not the way to cool one:
Tea makes an empty stomach hot,
And hotter still a full one.
That's not the way to cool one:
Tea makes an empty stomach hot,
And hotter still a full one.
Well now the supper's come, and come
To make bad worse I wot;
For supper, whilst it heats the cool,
Will never cool the hot.
To make bad worse I wot;
For supper, whilst it heats the cool,
Will never cool the hot.
And bed, which cheers the cold man's heart,
Helps not the hot a pin;
For he who's hot when out of bed,
Is ten times hotter in.
Helps not the hot a pin;
For he who's hot when out of bed,
Is ten times hotter in.