With apologies to Lord Byron

"We'll Go No More a Raiding"

So, we'll go no more a raiding,
So deep within the Blight,
Though the wife be still as scathing,
And the display still as bright.


For the butt outwears its seat,
And mouse wears out its pad,
And the body must pause to eat,
And you youself smell bad,


Because the night was made for raiding,
And the sun light fills the room,
Yet your wife is still a'raving
It is time to log-off soon.