"If I could leave this rock-bound home, I would do so, this very minute;
And sport about amidst the foam—
Oh crikey! How I'd glory in it!"
He envied all the shrimps and crabs,
Disporting round about him, daily,
As active as-as taxi-cabs,
Although consid'rably more scaly.
The odd comparison, of course,
Is mine, for underneath the ocean
There are no taxis; the sea-horse
Provides all means of locomotion.
This point made clear, we'll now resume
Our tale of Mortimer's vexation;
Plunged in a train of utter gloom,
Because he couldn't change his station!
Until, upon a friend's advice,
A pair of dumb-bells he got hold of;
And practised on them, daily, twice,
At exercises he'd been told of.
And ev'ry day his size increased,
As he grew definitely stronger,
Till he felt fit to fight at least,
A lobster, or a fair-sized conger.
The biggest mussel he became
From Brighton to the Straits of Dover,
Which helped him to achieve his aim-
To be an independent rover.
And so he's left his rocky isle,
And camps each day just where he wishes,
Assured and confident in style
As any of the boldest fishes.
If you think that my tale's a jest, Do not with me have verbal tussles.
Buy dumb-bells and you'll find, by test, They can and do develop muscles!
When the day is warm and fetid,
And there's thunder in the air,
And, all perspiration-wetted,
I meander here and there;
brow is moist and clammy,
And my side is full of "stitch,"
And I call out, loudly, "Damme!
How those pesky midges itch!"
Then I wander through the herbiage
And lie down amidst the beef,
And compose this charming verbiage,
Though for verbiage it's brief.
Then the rain descends in torrents,
And, again, I have to swear,
And extract with great abhorrence,
Half-drowned earwigs from my hair.
And life has ne'er seemed glummer,
For there's only one thing worse
Than our "glorious" British summer-
And that's my inglorious verse!
I've ne'er seen a spider on crutches,
Or a kipper with one leg in splints,
Or a newt with neuralgic touches,
Or a flea in a waistcoat of chintz,
But I once saw a veal
Perform a Scotch reel
And I've seen nothing funnier since.
Once on a time a young Giraffe
(Who when at school devoured the chaff
And trampled underneath his feet
The golden grains of Learning's Wheat)
Upon his travels chanced to see
A Python hanging from a tree,
A thing he'd never met before,
All neck it seemed and nothing more;
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