“Listen, said the Equine Ox, and throwing back his head, he sang”
“Of course when one thus falls a prey to melancholy, night and day,
And merely moans and mopes and groans,
He’ll grow weak-minded from it;
And as this star became more blue, and thinking of his sorrows grew
Each day more sad, he soon went mad,
And turned into a comet.
“Now little girls who fancy they are always in grown people’s way,