Poem by Eugene Field

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 blobs 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 yelps he flew.

1. Old Spanish Song
2. In Praise of Contentment
3. The Singing in God's Acre
4. The Two Little Skeezucks
5. Fitte the First

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