Part 14 (1/2)

The forty little ducklings who lived up at the farm, They said unto each other, ”Oh! the day is very warm!”

They said unto each other, ”Oh! the river's very cool!

The duck who did not seek it now would surely be a fool.”

The forty little ducklings, they started down the road; And waddle, waddle, waddle, was the gait at which they goed.

The same it is not grammar,--you may change it if you choose,-- But one cannot stop for trifles when inspired by the Muse.

They waddled and they waddled and they waddled on and on.

Till one remarked, ”Oh! deary me, where is the river gone?

We asked the Ancient Gander, and he said 'twas very near.

He must have been deceiving us, or else himself, I fear.”

They waddled and they waddled, till no further they could go: Then down upon a mossy bank they sat them in a row.

They took their little handkerchiefs and wept a little weep, And then they put away their heads, and then they went to sleep.

There came along a farmer, with a basket on his arm, And all those little duckylings he took back to the farm.

He put them in their little beds, and wished them sweet repose, And fastened mustard plasters on their little webby toes.

Next day these little ducklings, they were very very ill.

Their mother sent for Doctor Quack, who gave them each a pill; But soon as they recovered, the first thing that they did, Was to peck the Ancient Gander, till he ran away and hid.

THE MOUSE.

I'm only a poor little mouse, Ma'am.

I live in the wall of your house, Ma'am.

With a fragment of cheese, And a _very few_ peas, I was having a little carouse, Ma'am.

No mischief at all I intend, Ma'am.

I hope you will act as my friend, Ma'am.

If my life you should take, Many hearts it would break, And the mischief would be without end, Ma'am.

My wife lives in there, in the crack, Ma'am, She's waiting for me to come back, Ma'am.

She hoped I might find A bit of a rind, For the children their dinner do lack, Ma'am.

'Tis hard living there in the wall, Ma'am, For plaster and mortar _will_ pall, Ma'am, On the minds of the young, And when specially hung-- Ry, upon their poor father they'll fall, Ma'am.

I never was given to strife, Ma'am,-- (Don't look at that terrible knife, Ma'am!) The noise overhead That disturbs you in bed, 'Tis the rats, I will venture my life, Ma'am.

In your eyes I see mercy, I'm sure, Ma'am.

Oh, there's no need to open the door, Ma'am.