Once, in a roostery
there lived a speckled hen, and when-
ever she laid an egg this hen
ecstatically cried:
‘O progeny miraculous, particular spectaculous,
what a wonderful hen am I!’

Down in a pond nearby
perchance a fat and broody carp
was basking, but her ears were sharp—
she heard Dame Cackle cry:
‘O progeny miraculous, particular spectaculous,
what a wonderful hen am I!’

‘Ah, Cackle,’ bubbled she,
‘for your single egg, O silly one,
I lay at least a million;
suppose for each I cried:
“O progeny miraculous, particular spectaculous!”
what a hullaballoo there'd be!’