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THE FROG WHO WOULDN'T A-WOOING GO.
Ye gentlemen far, and gentlemen near,
And ladies fair, and children dear,
Come, list to the mournful tale—heigho!—
Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.
I.
Once on a time, when nations were few,
And whether the world stood still or flew,
Nobody cared and nobody knew,
A respectable pair,
By name of Gluck,
Lived in a pool
On the Isle of Muck.
Oh! very blest were this pair of frogs,
Their lot was cast in the softest of bogs.
Mrs. Gluck had an exquisite voice,
Their sky was serenest,
Their puddle the greenest
That ever bade heart of a froggy rejoice.
II.
But of all the blessings that came to this pair,
Most precious of all was a son and heir,
With the widest of mouths and the loveliest stare—
Their brisk little polliwog,
Hearty and hale;
Their own little frisky one,
All head and tail!
Ah! never were parents so happy as these,
Though their child, to be sure, wouldn't sit on their knees.
And this, let me say, was a very bad sign,
Though they didn't perceive it
And couldn't conceive it,
For it proved that he didn't to duty incline.
III.
Well, the days flew along, and their child grew apace,
Till at last a fine form came to balance his face;
And his legs grew so fast they seemed running a race.
Completed at last,
With his garment of green,
Just the handsomest froggy
That ever was seen,
He said to his mother: "Now, madam, I'm blown
If—ahem! I should say, I am perfectly grown;
So in future I'd wish my own master to be,
Though I thank you most kindly
For loving me blindly."
(Such airs in a youngster were dreadful to see!)