A woolly little terrier pup Gave vent to yelps distressing, Whereat his mistress took him up And soothed him with caressing, And yet he was not in the least What one would call a handsome beast. He might have been a Javanese, He might have been a Jap dog, And also neither one of these, But just a common lapdog, The kind that people send, you know, Done up in cotton, to the Show. At all events, whate'er his race, The pretty girl who owned him Caressed his unattractive face And petted and cologned him, While, watching her with mournful eye, A patient ass stood silent by. "If thus," he mused, "the feminine And fascinating gender Is led to love, I, too, can win Her protestations tender." And then the poor, misguided chap Sat down upon the lady's lap. Then, as her head with terror swam, "This method seems to suit you," Observed the ass, "so here I am." Said she, "Get up, you brute you!" And promptly screamed aloud for aid: No ass was ever more dismayed. [Illustration: "SAID SHE, 'GET UP, YOU BRUTE YOU!'"] They took the ass into the yard And there, with whip and truncheon, They beat him, and they beat him hard, From breakfast-time till luncheon. He only gave a tearful gulp, Though almost pounded to a pulp. THE MORAL is (or seems, at least, To be): In etiquette you Will find that while enough's a feast A surplus will upset you. Toujours, toujours la politesse, if The quantity be not excessive.