There was a naughty boy Tittlebat And a naughty boy was he Not over fat, He kept little fishes Minnow small In washing tubs three As the stal In spite Of a glove Of the might Not above Of the Maid, The size Nor afraid Of a nice Of his Granny-good Little Baby's He often would Little finger-- Hurly burly O he made Get up early 'Twas his trade And go Of Fish a pretty kettle By hook or crook A kettle-- To the brook A kettle-- And bring home Of Fish a pretty kettle Miller's thumb, A kettle! In a later letter to his sister he makes much the same confession in a different key, when he bids her ask him for any kind of present she fancies, only not for live stock to be kept in captivity, 'though I will not now be very severe on it, remembering how fond I used to be of Goldfinches, Tomtits, Minnows, Mice, Ticklebacks, Dace, Cock salmons and all the whole tribe of the Bushes and the Brooks.' Despite the changes which have overbuilt and squalidly or sprucely suburbanized all those parts of Middlesex, the Pymmes brook still holds its course across half the county, is still bridged by the main street of Edmonton, and runs countrywise, clear and open, for some distance along a side street on its way to join the Lea. Other memories of it, and of his childish playings and musings beside it, find expression in Keats's poetry where he makes the shepherd-prince Endymion tell his sister Peona how one of his love-sick vagaries has been to sit on a stone and bubble up the water through a reed,-- So reaching back to boy-hood: make me ships Of moulted feathers, touchwood, alder chips, With leaves stuck in them; and the Neptune be Of their petty ocean.