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.

  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 blots 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 yelp he flew.

  FITTE THE FIFTH.

  He whisked into the dusty street
    And to the Waller lot
  Where bonny Annie Evans played
    With charming Sissy Knott.

  And with these pretty little dears
    He mixed himself all up—­
  Oh, fie upon such boisterous play—­
    Fie, fie, you naughty pup!

  Woe, woe on Annie’s India mull,
    And Sissy’s blue percale! 
  One got the pup’s belathered flanks,
    And one his soapy tail!

  Forth to the rescue of those maids
    Rushed gallant Willie Clow;
  His panties they were white and clean—­
    Where are those panties now?

  Where is the nicely laundered shirt
    That Kendall Evans wore,
  And Robbie James’ tricot coat
    All buttoned up before?

  The leaven, which, as we are told,
    Leavens a monstrous lump,
  Hath far less reaching qualities
    Than a wet pup on the jump.

  This way and that he swung and swayed,
    He gamboled far and near,
  And everywhere he thrust himself
    He left a soapy smear.

  FITTE THE SIXTH.

  That noon a dozen little dears
    Were spanked and put to bed
  With naught to stay their appetites
    But cheerless crusts of bread.

  That noon a dozen hired girls
    Washed out each gown and shirt
  Which that exuberant Taylor pup
    Had frescoed o’er with dirt.

  That whole day long the April sun
    Smiled sweetly from above
  On clothes lines flaunting to the breeze
    With emblems mothers love.