You are old, Father William, the young man said, 



And your hair has become very white



And yet you incessantly stand on your head,



Do you think at your age it is right?







In my youth, Father William replied to his son,



I feared it might injure my brain



But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none



Why do it again and again.







You are old, said the youth, one would hardly suppose



That your eyes was as steady as ever



Yet you balance an eel on the end of your nose



What made you so awfully clever?







I have answered your questions and that is enough,



Said his father, don't give yourself airs



Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?



Be off! or I'll kick you downstairs!