Plish and Plum, their deeds declare,
Are a graceless, low-lived pair.
Yet they live in close communion;
And for that, in my opinion,
They deserve some commendation;
But will 't be of long duration?
"Rogue & Co."—such firm, be sure,
Cannot many days endure.
In the sunshine, vis-a-vis,
Sits a lap-dog, fair to see.
To our pair this lovely sight
Is a rare and keen delight.
Each would gain the foremost place
To behold that beauteous face.
If the front is gained by Plish,
Plum looks glum and dismalish;
Then if it is seized by Plum,
That makes Plish exceeding glum.
Soon low-muttering thunders growl,
Paws scratch gravel, eyeballs roll,
And the furious fight begins;
Plum cuts dirt, his brother wins.
Mamma Fittig stands and makes
Chicken salad and pancakes,—
Those well known and favorite dishes,
Every child devoutly wishes.
Whirr! right through the window come,
Helter-skelter, Plish and Plum.
Pot and pan and stove and stew
Mingle in one grand ragout.
"Wait! you vile Plish!" Peter holloos,
And the word instanter follows
With a well-aimed blow; but Paul
Doesn't relish that at all.
"What d' ye mean, to strike my creatur'?"
Cries out Paul, and lashes Peter;
Who, inflamed with pain and passion,
Winds up Paul in curious fashion.
Now the battle desperate grows;
Each the costly salad throws,
In a frenzy, at his brother,
And they poultice one another.
In comes papa Fittig, hasting
To inflict on them a basting.
Mamma Fittig, full of kindness,
Fearing anger's headlong blindness,
Cries, "Best Fittig! pray consider!"
But her zeal for once undid her.
Her lace cap, so nice and new,
Fittig's cane has bored quite through.
Laughs the wicked Sly, "He! he!
All are done for, now, I see!"
He who laughs at others' woes
Makes few friends and many foes.
Hot and heavy the old chap
Finds, I guess, the pancake cap.
"Bad," said Sly, "as bad can be,
And this once, too, bad for me!"