"Odzooks, it matters not a whit-- They all are good to use! Take Pearline, if it pleases you-- Sapolio, if you choose! "Take any soap, but take the pup And also water take, And mix the three discreetly up Till they a lather make. "Then mixing these constituent parts, Let nature take her way," With such advice that sapient sir Had nothing more to say. Then fared he to his daily toil All in the Board of Trade, While Mistress Taylor for that bath Due preparations made. FITTE THE THIRD. She whistled gayly to the pup And called him by his name, And presently the guileless thing All unsuspecting came. But when she shut the bath-room door And caught him as catch-can, And dove him in that odious tub, His sorrows then began. How did that callow, yellow thing Regret that April morn-- Alas! how bitterly he rued The day that he was born! Twice and again, but all in vain He lifted up his wail; His voice was all the pup could lift, For thereby hangs this tale. 'Twas by that tail she held him down And presently she spread The creamery lather on his back, His stomach and his head. His ears hung down in sorry wise, His eyes were, oh! so sad-- He looked as though he just had lost The only friend he had. And higher yet the water rose, The lather still increased, And sadder still the countenance Of that poor martyred beast! 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!