Twice and again, but all in vain
He lifted up his wail;
His voice was all the pup could lift,
For thereby hangs this tale.
'Twas by that tail she held him down
And presently she spread
The creamery lather on his back,
His stomach and his head.
His ears hung down in sorry wise,
His eyes were, oh! so sad—
He looked as though he just had lost
The only friend he had.
And higher yet the water rose,
The lather still increased,
And sadder still the countenance
Of that poor martyred beast!
Yet all this time his mistress spoke
Such artful words of cheer
As "Oh, how nice!" and "Oh, how clean!"
And "There's a patient dear!"
At last the trial had an end,
At last the pup was free;
She threw awide the bath-room door—
"Now get you gone!" quoth she.
FITTE THE FOURTH.
Then from that tub and from that room
He gat with vast ado;
At every hop he gave a shake
And—how the water flew!
He paddled down the winding stairs
And to the parlor hied,
Dispensing pools of foamy suds
And slop on every side.
Upon the carpet then he rolled
And brushed against the wall,
And, horror! whisked his lathery sides
On overcoat and shawl.