|illustration from text - PD|
THE DANCING MARMOT.
"You'll give me a trifle, good people, I'm sure;
I'm very unhappy, and wretched, and poor.
My friends in the corn-field are merry and gay,
While I am here hopping and dancing for pay;
In winter they sleep without danger or dread,
While I must be waking and begging for bread."
"I pity you much, you poor little thing;
I too love to gambol, to dance, and to spring;
But had I to dance at another's behest,
'T would not seem to me like a game or a jest.
For you't was, poor marmot, a sorrowful day,
When cunning men caught you, and took you away."