Alice in Verse: The Lost Rhymes of Wonderland (5 page)

‘Dear Oysters, come and rally round!’

     The Walrus did beseech.

‘It seems we’ve dipped into a rut

     Along this brackish beach:

It would be grand to lend hand—

     If four would give to each.’

The eldest Oyster gazed at him,

     And raised a clever brow.

The eldest Oyster nodded then,

     For this he did allow:

To lend a hand, it
would
be grand—

     But which to whom and how?

‘A coil of thread,’ the eldest said,

     ‘Is what we do require

To hoist them up and drag them out

     From ’neath this boggy mire—

Some kindling, too, and flint as well,

     To build a
warming
fire.’

‘But not too hot!’ the Walrus cried,

     As flames licked at his feet—

And yet the pyre burned high and bright,

     And ever-so replete—

Whilst wafting scents into the night

     Of
sweetest
sizzling meat.

‘The time has come,’ the Oysters cried,

     ‘To settle down to tea—

To break the bread and thickly spread

     The lard with zesty brie!’

‘A little spice, that
would
be nice,’

     The eldest did agree.

‘It was so very kind of you

     To grace us with this feast!’

But no reply the Walrus gave,

     Which scorned them not the least—

For full his maw and thick his craw

     With vinegar and yeast.

‘It’s seems a shame,’ the Builder sobbed,

     ‘To bring this feast to shut.’

To which the eldest did agree,

     And none there could rebut—

And so they stoked the waning fire

     To satisfy their
glut
.

‘O Carpenter, we weep for you!

     Dear Walrus, we lament

The boiling sea—and cabbages—

     Those kings of malcontent—

The shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—

     And
all
that they ferment.’

‘A pleasant run, you both have had—

     The
sights
that you have seen!

But now we must be trotting home,’

     They sighed, with sated mien—

And this was scarcely odd, because

     They’d licked their plates
quite
clean.

‘Now we’re done with our tale, and we must have a fight:

     We don’t care if it lasts very long!

And though each of us feels
inexorably
right,

     We’re not
certain
the other is wrong!’

‘Now I’ve got a headache—it’s
terribly
grim—

     But the battle cannot be postponed!’

‘And
I’ve
got a toothache—I’m
far
worse than him—

     But a rematch cannot be condoned!’

‘We shall fight until six, and then dine until dawn,

     And then sleep until midday or one!

Then we’ll take up the battle—if but for the rattle—

     And cut down the trees, every one!’

‘Now I generally hit everything I can see—

     Or at least what I see when excited!’

‘And
I
hit all things within reach of my sword—

     Whether seeing or as yet unsighted!’

‘Let the battle commence! Raise your sword, if you’ve one—

     And, if not, simply raise your umbrella!

But we must begin quickly! The sky’s growing dark!

     And by night we recite
a cappella!
’

‘Are you leaving so soon? We have yet to begin!

     If you go now, you’ll miss all the action!

If you must, then be off to the court of the Queen—

     There you’ll find a most
pleasant
distraction!’

‘They have games in the garden, and tarts served with tea—

     Though their manners are often quite coarse!’

‘They have trials, tribulations, and all sorts of glee—

     Though they seldom show any remorse!’

‘So join them at once on the rose garden green,

     But be mindful of what we have said—

For the game that you win is a loss to the Queen,

     And a loss thus will cost you your head!’

Now come to the place at the edge of the wood,

     Where the roses are lovely—yet
white
—

Where the Five and the Two and the Seven of Spades

     Have been frantically painting all night.

Come take your flamingo and hammer the hog

     Through the wickets of cards on the green—

But be mindful to send it straight into the bog

     Lest you challenge the wrath of the Queen!

Now look to the skies where the Cat’s clever eyes

     Doth alight to the fright of the ring—

And the utter disdain of the monarchs who reign:

     That a cat may
dare
look at a King!

Come walk with the Duchess: she’s done with her fit,

     And her manner is oddly serene;

She will give you the moral to every last wit

     That has ever endeavored or been.

Now follow the Gryphon, and hear the sad tale

     Of the Mock Turtle’s school in the sea—

Where the Lobster Quadrille, if you won’t or you will,

     Is the thrill of the court’s coterie!

Come play for the day, but don’t stay through the night,

     For the light in the night is quite thin.

Now onto the site where the sun’s shining bright,

     And the trial is about to begin!

The King proclaimed the trial to start

     Upon the stroke of one clock,

And so, in turn, did rap his gavel

     On the varnished sound block.

‘We first shall hear the evidence—

     And then commence the hanging!’

To quell ensuing cheers and jeers,

     His gavel took to banging.

As silence fell, the King deferred

     To counsel for the hoodlum;

And once again there rose a din

     That soon broke out in bedlam.

The gavel fell to crush the swell,

     And bring the court to order.

With regal voice, the charge was read

     At once by the reporter:

‘The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts,

     All on a summer day:

The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts,

     And took them quite away!

The Knave of Hearts returned the tarts

     Still later that same day;

And with them came his earnest shame,

     And all was right and gay!’

The Hatter, seated near the Knave,

     As counsel most beguiling,

Exchanged a snort about this tort

     With counsel counter-filing.

The Hare then shook his tawny head,

     Whilst winking unassuming,

And strode up to the witness box,