Haddocks' Eyes

Naming

The White Knight explains a confusing nomenclature for the song.

The song's name is called Haddocks' Eyes

The song's name is The Aged Aged Man

The song is called Ways and Means

The song is A-sitting on a Gate

The complicated terminology distinguishing between 'the song, what the song is called, the name of the song, and what the name of the song is called' both uses and mentions the use–mention distinction.

The Poem

I'll tell thee everything I can:    There's little to relate.I saw an aged aged man,    A-sitting on a gate."Who are you, aged man?" I said,    "And how is it you live?"And his answer trickled through my head,    Like water through a sieve.He said "I look for butterflies    That sleep among the wheat:I make them into mutton-pies,    And sell them in the street.I sell them unto men," he said,    "Who sail on stormy seas;And that's the way I get my bread –    A trifle, if you please."But I was thinking of a plan    To dye one's whiskers green,And always use so large a fan    That they could not be seen.So, having no reply to give    To what the old man said,I cried "Come, tell me how you live!"    And thumped him on the head.His accents mild took up the tale:    He said "I go my ways,And when I find a mountain-rill,    I set it in a blaze;And thence they make a stuff they call    Rowlands' Macassar-Oil –Yet twopence-halfpenny is all    They give me for my toil."But I was thinking of a way    To feed oneself on batter,And so go on from day to day    Getting a little fatter.I shook him well from side to side,    Until his face was blue:"Come, tell me how you live," I cried,    "And what it is you do!"He said "I hunt for haddocks' eyes    Among the heather bright,And work them into waistcoat-buttons    In the silent night.And these I do not sell for gold    Or coin of silvery shine,But for a copper halfpenny,    And that will purchase nine."I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,    Or set limed twigs for crabs:I sometimes search the grassy knolls    For wheels of Hansom-cabs.And that's the way" (he gave a wink)    "By which I get my wealth--And very gladly will I drink    Your Honour's noble health."I heard him then, for I had just    Completed my designTo keep the Menai bridge from rust    By boiling it in wine.I thanked him much for telling me    The way he got his wealth,But chiefly for his wish that he    Might drink my noble health.And now, if e'er by chance I put    My fingers into glue,Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot    Into a left-hand shoe,Or if I drop upon my toe    A very heavy weight,I weep, for it reminds me soOf that old man I used to know--Whose look was mild, whose speech was slowWhose hair was whiter than the snow,Whose face was very like a crow,With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,Who seemed distracted with his woe,Who rocked his body to and fro,And muttered mumblingly and low,As if his mouth were full of dough,Who snorted like a buffalo--That summer evening long ago,    A-sitting on a gate.

Upon the Lonely Moor

Like "Jabberwocky," another poem published in Through the Looking Glass, "Haddocks’ Eyes" appears to have been revised over the course of many years. In 1856, Carroll published the following poem anonymously under the name Upon the Lonely Moor. It bears an obvious resemblance to "Haddocks' Eyes."

I met an aged, aged manUpon the lonely moor:I knew I was a gentleman,And he was but a boor.So I stopped and roughly questioned him,"Come, tell me how you live!"But his words impressed my ear no moreThan if it were a sieve.He said, "I look for soap-bubbles,That lie among the wheat,And bake them into mutton-pies,And sell them in the street.I sell them unto men," he said,"Who sail on stormy seas;And that's the way I get my bread –A trifle, if you please."But I was thinking of a wayTo multiply by ten,And always, in the answer, getThe question back again.I did not hear a word he said,But kicked that old man calm,And said, "Come, tell me how you live!"And pinched him in the arm.His accents mild took up the tale:He said, "I go my ways,And when I find a mountain-rill,I set it in a blaze.And thence they make a stuff they callRowland's Macassar Oil;But fourpence-halfpenny is allThey give me for my toil."But I was thinking of a planTo paint one's gaiters green,So much the color of the grassThat they could ne'er be seen.I gave his ear a sudden box,And questioned him again,And tweaked his grey and reverend locks,And put him into pain.He said, "I hunt for haddock's eyesAmong the heather bright,And work them into waistcoat-buttonsIn the silent night.And these I do not sell for gold,Or coin or silver-mine,But for a copper-halfpenny,And that will purchase nine."I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,Or set limed twigs for crabs;I sometimes search the flowery knollsFor wheels of hansom cabs.And that's the way" (he gave a wink)"I get my living here,And very gladly will I drinkYour Honour's health in beer."I heard him then, for I had justCompleted my designTo keep the Menai bridge from rustBy boiling it in wine.I duly thanked him, ere I went,For all his stories queer,But chiefly for his kind intentTo drink my health in beer.And now if e'er by chance I putMy fingers into glue,Or madly squeeze a right-hand footInto a left-hand shoe;Or if a statement I averOf which I am not sure,I think of that strange wandererUpon the lonely moor.