“Oh, I never would be a guinea-pig, never!
They have so little brains!”—
The guinea-pig sprang, and—wasn’t it clever?—
He hid in the raspberry canes.
They scratched their fingers, they taxed their wits,
To get the guinea-pig out;
They nearly laughed themselves to fits
To see him run about.
The old and the young, the patient, the bold,
Were in that companie;
But the guinea-pig baffled the young and the old,
And merrily scampered he.
You thought you had him, but oh, mistake!
You grappled a lump of mould—
The guinea-pig stuck to the raspberry brake
As hath before been told.
“Oh, make me into a guinea-pig, make,
And never mind what I said;
For then I can hide in the raspberry brake,
When it’s time to go to bed.”