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You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, All at once, and nothing first, Just as bubbles do when they burst. End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. Logic is logic. That's all I say. I think there is one habit, I said to our company a day or two afterwards, worse than that of punning.
You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, All at once, and nothing first, Just as bubbles do when they burst. End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. Logic is logic. That's all I say. I think there is one habit, I said to our company a day or two afterwards worse than that of punning.
This morning the parson takes a drive. Now, small boys, get out of the way! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss-shay, Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. "Huddup!" said the parson. Off went they. The parson was working his Sunday's text, Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed At what the Moses was coming next. All at once the horse stood still, Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.
In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. FIRST OF NOVEMBER, the Earthquake-day. There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay, A general flavor of mild decay, But nothing local, as one may say. There couldn't be, for the Deacon's art Had made it so like in every part That there wasn't a chance for one to start.
Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay, That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, And then, of a sudden, it ah, but stay, I'll tell you what happened without delay, Scaring the parson into fits, Frightening people out of their wits, Have you ever heard of that, I say? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.
I'm the fellah that tole one day The tale of the won'erful one-hoss-shay. Wan' to hear another? Say. Funny, wasn'it? Made ME laugh, I'm too modest, I am, by half, Made me laugh'S THOUGH I SH'D SPLIT, Cahn' a fellah like fellah's own wit? Fellahs keep sayin', "Well, now that's nice; Did it once, but cahn' do it twice." Don' you b'lieve the'z no more fat; Lots in the kitch'n 'z good 'z that.
That was the way he "put her through." "There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew." Do! I tell you, I father guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, Deacon and deaconess dropped away, Children and grand-children where were they? But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day!
I'm the fellah that tole one day The tale of the won'erful one-hoss-shay. Wan' to hear another? Say. Funny, wasn'it? Made me laugh, I'm too modest, I am, by half, Made me laugh 's though I sh'd split, Cahn' a fellah like fellah's own wit? Fellahs keep sayin', "Well, now that's nice; Did it once, but cahn' do it twice." Don' you b'lieve the'z no more fat; Lots in the kitch'n 'z good 'z that.
Georgius Secundus was then alive, Snuffy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbon-town Saw the earth open and gulp her down, And Braddock's army was done so brown, Left without a scalp to its crown. It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay.
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground! You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, All at once, and nothing first, Just as bubbles do when they burst. End of the wonderful one-hoss-shay. Logic is logic. That's all I say.
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