The Wild Wood Is Pretty Well Populated

Weasels--and Stoats--and Foxes--and So On. They're All Right In A Way--i'm Very Good Friends With Them--pass The Time Of Day When We Meet, And All That--but They Break Out Sometimes, There's No Denying It, And Then--well, You Can't Really Trust Them, And That's The Fact.

Don't, For Goodness' Sake, Keep On Saying 'don't'; I Hear So Much Of It, And It's Monotonous, And Makes Me Tired.

The Clever Men Of Oxford, Know All That There Is To Be Knowed But They None Of Them Know One Half As Much As Intelligent Mr. Toad.

I'm Such A Clever Toad.

It Seemed A Place Where Heroes Could Fitly Feast After Victory, Where Weary Harvesters Could Line Up In Scores Along The Table And Keep Their Harvest Home With Mirth And Song, Or Where Two Or Three Friends Of Simple Tastes Could Sit About As They Pleased And Eat And Smoke And Talk In Comfort And Contentment.