“’Tis the voice of the Lobster; I heard him declare,“You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.” As a duck with its eyelids,so he with his nose Trims his belt and his buttons,and turns out his toes.”
[later editions continued as follows When the sands are all dry,he is gay as a lark,And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark, But,when the tide rises and sharks are around,His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.]
“That’s different from what _I_ used to say when I was a child, ” said the Gryphon.
“Well, I never heard it before,” said the Mock Turtle;“but it sounds uncommon nonsense.”
Alice said nothing; she had sat down with her face in her hands,wondering if anything would _ever_ happen in a natural way again.
“I should like to have it explained,” said the Mock Turtle.
“She can’t explain it,” said the Gryphon hastily.“Go on with the next verse.”
“But about his toes?” the Mock Turtle persisted.“How _could_ he turn them out with his nose, you know?”
“It’s the first position in dancing.” Alice said;but was dreadfully puzzled by the whole thing,and longed to change the subject.
“Go on with the next verse,” the Gryphon repeated impatiently:“it begins ‘_I passed by his garden_.’”
Alice did not dare to disobey,though she felt sure it would all come wrong,and she went on in a trembling voice:—
“I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie—”
[later editions continued as follows The Panther took pie-crust,and gravy, and meat,While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,And concluded the banquet—]
“What _is_ the use of repeating all that stuff,” the Mock Turtle interrupted,“if you don’t explain it as you go on?It’s by far the most confusing thing _I_ ever heard!”
“Yes, I think you’d better leave off,” said the Gryphon:and Alice was only too glad to do so.
“Shall we try another figure of the Lobster Quadrille?” the Gryphon went on.“Or would you like the Mock Turtle to sing you a song?”
“Oh, a song, please,if the Mock Turtle would be so kind,” Alice replied,so eagerly that the Gryphon said,in a rather offended tone, “Hm!No accounting for tastes!Sing her ‘_Turtle Soup_,’ will you, old fellow?”
The Mock Turtle sighed deeply, and began,in a voice sometimes choked with sobs, to sing this:—
“Beautiful Soup, so rich and green,Waiting in a hot tureen!Who for such dainties would not stoop?Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!Soup of the evening, beautiful Soup!Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!Soo—oop of the e—e—evening, Beautiful, beautiful Soup!
“Beautiful Soup!Who cares for fish, Game, or any other dish?Who would not give all else for two p ennyworth only of beautiful Soup?Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!Beau—ootiful Soo—oop!Soo—oop of the e—e—evening, Beautiful, beauti—FUL SOUP!”
“Chorus again!” cried the Gryphon,and the Mock Turtle had just begun to repeat it,when a cry of “The trial’s beginning!” was heard in the distance.
“Come on!” cried the Gryphon, and, taking Alice by the hand,it hurried off, without waiting for the end of the song.
“What trial is it?” Alice panted as she ran;but the Gryphon only answered “Come on!” and ran the faster, while more and more faintly came,carried on the breeze that followed them,the melancholy words:—
“Soo—oop of the e—e—evening, Beautiful, beautiful Soup!”