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. Attracted by the dreadful din, His mistress came below— Who, who can speak her wonderment— Who, who can paint her woe! Great smears of soap were here and there— Her startled vision met With blobs of lather everywhere, And everything was wet! Then Mrs. Taylor gave a shriek Like one about to die: "Get out—get out, and don't you dare Come in till you are dry!" With that she opened wide the door And waved the critter through; Out in the circumambient air With grateful yelps he flew.
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