Two little girls near London dwell,
More naughty than I like to tell.
Upon the lawn the hoops are seen:
The balls are rolling on the green.
The Thames is running deep and wide:
And boats are rowing on the tide.
In winter-time, all in a row,
The happy skaters come and go.
“Papa!” they cry, “Do let us stay!”
He does not speak, but says they may.
“There is a land,” he says, “my dear,
Which is too hot to skate, I fear.”