A Lobster from the water came, And saw another, just the same In form and size; but gayly clad In scarlet clothing; while she had
No other raiment to her back Than her old suit of greenish black. “So ho!” she cried, “‘ t is very fine! Your dress was yesterday like mine;
And in the mud below the sea, You lived, a crawling thing, like me. But now, because you‘ ve come ashore, You‘ ve grown so proud, that what you wore —
Your strong old suit of bottle-green, You think improper to be seen. To tell the truth, I don‘ t see why You should be better dressed than I.
And I should like a suit of red As bright as yours, from feet to head. I think I’ m quite as good as you, And might be clothed in scarlet, too.”
“Will you be boiled?” her owner said, “To be arrayed in glowing red? Come here, my discontented miss, And hear the scalding kettle hiss!
Will you go in, and there be boiled, To have your dress, so old and soiled, Exchanged for one of scarlet hue?” “Yes,” cried the lobster, “that I‘ ll do,
And twice as much, if needs must be, To be as gayly clad as she.” Then, in she made a fatal dive, And never more was seen alive!
Now, if you ever chance to know Of one as fond of dress and show As that vain lobster, and withal As envious, you‘ ll perhaps recall
To mind her folly, and the plight In which she reappeared to sight. She had obtained a bright array, But for it, thrown herself away!
Her life and death were best untold, But for the moral they unfold!
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