Or quack like my silly old dad.
I want to be utterly other,
And frightfully modern and mad."
"Do you know," said the turkey, "you're quacking!
There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye;
And, if you're not utterly lacking,
You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!"
"I won't," said the duckling. "I'll lift him
A beautiful song, like a sheep;
And when I have—as it were—biffed him,