The Dance
"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied.
"There's another shore, you know, upon the other side.
The further off from England the nearer is to France,
Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance.
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance?
Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?
"And what does it live on?"
"Weak tea with cream in it."
A new difficulty came into Alice's head,
"Supposing it couldn't find any?" she suggested.
"Then it would die, ofcourse."
"But that must happen very often," Alice remarked thoughtfully.
"It always happens," said the Gnat.
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