Chapter II

The shore's a flood of puddly mud,
And the rocks are limy and slimy--
And I've tumbled down with a thud--good lud!--
And I fear I swore,
For something tore;
And my shoes are full
Of the stagnant pool;
And hauling, sprawling, crawling crabs
Have got in my socks with star-fish and dabs;
And my pockets are swarming with polypes and prawns,
And noisome beasts with shells and horns,
That scrunch and scrape, and goggle and gape,
Are up my sleeve, I firmly believe--
And I'm horribly rimy and grimy.