Let him who is minded to meet with a Glug Pluck three hardy hairs from a rabbit-skin rug; Blow one to the South, and one to the West, Then burn another and swallow the rest. And who shall explain ’tis the talk of a fool, He’s a Glug! He’s a Glug of the old Gosh school! And he’ll climb a tree, if the East wind blows, In a casual way, just to show he knows . . . Now, tickle his toes! Oh, tickle his toes! And don’t blame me if you come to blows.
—OLD GOSH RHYME
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