The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon br And wistfully gazed on the sea br Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune br To the air of 'Ti-fol-de-ding-dee.' br The quavering shriek of the Fly-up-the-creek br Was fitfully wafted afar br To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek br With the pulverized rays of a star. br br The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig, br And his heart it grew heavy as lead br As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wing br On the opposite side of his head, br And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill br Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies, br And plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill br To pick the tears out of his eyes. br br The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance, br And the Squidjum hid under a tub br As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance br With a rub-a-dub--dub-a-dub--dub! br And the Crankadox cried, as he lay down and died, br 'My fate there is none to bewail,' br While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide br With a long piece of crape to her tail.