University of Virginia Library

THE TRAGIC HISTORY OF PUFFSKIN, THE FROG, AND PETER PIPER, THE GRASSHOPPER.

Puffskin, the Frog, was a mischievous fellow,
His coat was green and his eyes were yellow;
He gave a great croak (he'd a shocking cold
In his head, that morning, as I've been told,
And it made him spiteful), and slyly dodging
Aside, from the marsh where he had his lodging,
He sprang down the bank, with a sudden whir,
And found Peter Piper, the Grasshopper,
Chirping and twittering, as brisk and bold,
As if there were no such thing as a cold,
Or a cramp, or a toothache, to throw a shadow
On any visage, in marsh or meadow.
“Soho!” said the Frog, “they say you're known
For a wonderful jumper, but I own
I can't believe it; you're so lanky,
And lean. Why, I would not give a thank'ye
For a body like yours, that shrinks and dwindles,
With a pair of legs, like a pair of spindles.
But show me your feats, and jump with spirit,
And you'll find me proud to proclaim your merit.
You see that bank, with its reedy cover;—
Come, I'll wager my head you can't leap over,
Without so much as a limb that brushes
The spiky tops of the tallest rushes.”
“Done!” cried the Grasshopper; but alas!
He had chirp'd all his life in the meadow grass,
And had not the least idea of the pool,
That lay so muddy, and black, and cool,
On the other side of his perilous leap.
And Puffskin, the Frog, sat all of a heap,
Watching his victim with twinkling eyes,
And pursed-up mouth, so solemn and wise,
While his fat sides shook like a jelly, as if
He were trying to look demure and stiff,
And could not, for laughing. Away, away,
Springs the Grasshopper, chirping, well a day!
Over the bank and over the rushes,
Without so much as a limb that brushes;
And away leaps Puffskin, wickedly croaking,
To see poor Peter sputtering and choking.
And there to be sure he was, half sinking.
In the dirty puddle, and certainly drinking,
In that one minute, a vast deal more
Than he ever had drunk in his life before.
Oh! Puffskin, the Frog, you wicked viper!
What harm had he done, poor Peter Piper?
Chirping, chirping, from morning till night,
Deep in the grasses, out of sight.
What harm had he done?
Why surely none,
Thought the long lithe reeds, all bowing and bending,
Leaning and leaning, and still descending.
What harm had he done?
Why surely none,
Thought the wild West-wind, that sturdy blower,
As he bent the blades down, lower and lower.
Hurrah! there's a chance, for see, he brushes
The outermost edge of the drooping rushes.
Hurrah! he struggles, and nears the shore;
He's a hand's-breadth closer than before!
Hurrah! the danger's past; already
He climbs the spear-points, stout and steady.
He's safe! With one swift spring he clears
The bank and the rushes and disappears
In the meadow grass, where he chirps with a quiver,
That is half a sob and half a shiver.
Hurrah! Where's Puffskin?—where indeed?
So intent was he on that evil deed,
That he never saw the farmer's sow,
Grubbing for beech-nuts under the bough.
Squash! went her hoof on the blue and yellow
Of Puffskin's back. So the wicked old fellow,
Crush'd under foot, just like a viper,
Play'd no more tricks on poor Peter Piper.