Chapter IV

Such a piece of perpetual motion,
Full of bother
And pother,
Would make paralytic old Bridget
A Fidget.
So you see (to _my_ notion),
Better leave our downy
Diminutive browny
Alone, near his "diggings;"
Ever free to pursue,
Rush round, and renew
His loved vaulting
Unhalting,
His whirling,
And curling,
And twirling,
And swirling,
And his ways, on the whole
So unsteady!
'Pon my soul,
Having gazed
Quite amazed,
On each wonderful antic
And summersault frantic,
For just a bare minute,
My head, it feels whizzy;
My eyesight's grown dizzy;
And both legs, unstable
As a ghost's tipping table,
Seem waltzing, already!