Once, on a time and in a place
  Conducive to malaria,
There lived a member of the race
  Of Rana Temporaria;
  Or, more concisely still, a frog
  Inhabited a certain bog.

A bull of Brobdingnagian size,
  Too proud for condescension,
One morning chanced to cast his eyes
  Upon the frog I mention;
  And, being to the manner born,
  Surveyed him with a lofty scorn.

Perceiving this, the bactrian’s frame
  With anger was inflated,
Till, growing larger, he became
  Egregiously elated;
  For inspiration’s sudden spell
  Had pointed out a way to swell.

“Ha! ha!” he proudly cried, “a fig
  For this, your mammoth torso!
Just watch me while I grow as big
  As you—or even more so!”
  To which magniloquential gush
  His bullship simply answered “Tush!”

Alas! the frog’s success was slight,
  Which really was a wonder,
In view of how with main and might
  He strove to grow rotunder!
  And, standing patiently the while,
  The bull displayed a quiet smile.

But ah, the frog tried once too oft
  And, doing so, he busted;
Whereat the bull discreetly coughed
  And moved away, disgusted,
  As well he might, considering
  The wretched taste that marked the thing.

  THE MORAL: Everybody knows
  How ill a wind it is that blows.