"I haven't overdone the pathos, have I?" said the Poet Laureate.
"Not at all," said Alice.
"Oh Pledges, come and walk with us,"
The valiant Colonel cried.
"Your numbers clearly show my stand
Upon race suicide.
Your countless faces fill my breast
With pardonable pride."
The elder Pledges shook their heads
And whimpered as he spoke;
The elder Pledges couldn't move
Because their backs was broke,
But all the younger fry obeyed
And waited for the joke.
"I will now skip several stanzas because they are quite intelligible," said the Poet Laureate.
"It seems to me that you can read them all the better then," said Alice.
"But if they are already intelligible, what use is there in reading them?" said the Poet Laureate, impatiently, and he went on:
"The time has come," the Colonel said,
"To speak of many things,
Of Presidents of sealing wax,
And hats inside of rings,
And why I feel so boiling hot,
And whether truth has wings."
"A brand new deal, Oh Pledges dear,
Is what we chiefly need.
A double-acting memory
Is very good indeed;
And if you're ready, Harvester,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us," the Pledges cried—
"Please," said Alice, "please won't you skip what happened next? I have never been able to think about it without crying. It's too cruel."
"Very well," said the Poet Laureate, "I am rather tender-hearted myself. I'll pass on to the last verse: