human
Can you write a poem for me in the style of László Arany?
assistant
Sure, here's a poem in the style of László Arany:
  THE Coat was in a downright rage.
"So _I_ say," remarked the Hat.
"Well, are you not brushed as well?" asked the Hat.
"Hallo, hallo, hallo!" cried the Valet. "What are you doing?"
But the Coat hung the Valet on a nail, and snatched up the Cane.
"I'll let you see," said the Coat, flourishing the Cane.
The Cane could not help himself, for he was thin.
satisfaction.
"Oh," said he, "how dreadfully shabby that Coat looks."
The old Poll Parrot was in a rage;
He bounced and spluttered about in his cage.
The reason he felt so much displeased
Was because young Alf had worried and teased.
He pecked, and bobbed, and knocked with his beak,
Too much enraged to be able to speak.
To tease him was a scandalous shame:
Alf was a bad boy, and much to blame.
"I tell you, young Alf," at last Poll said,
"If you don't leave off, I'll snap off your head.
"You think you're allowed to tease a bird.
Now, that idea's extremely absurd.
"One thing, young Alf, is certain and sure--
Your worry and bother no more I'll endure.
"Another thing, Alf, is also clear:
I mean to walk out, and lock you in here."
Poor Alfy screamed and bawled with rage
When Poll marched out, and put _him_ in the cage!
Cried Alf, "I think this horrible bird
Is going to be as good as his word."
Laughed old Poll, as he perched on a chair,
"You thought to punish you I'd never dare.
"You may bawl or howl, or scream and rage--
I'm going to lock the door of the cage!"
Alfy did cry out--Oh! didn't he shout,
When he found the Parrot would not let him out!
Said Poll, "My dear boy, it's now _our_ turn;
The world's upside down, as you have to learn."
So Alf was forced to make up his mind
In the cage of the Parrot to be confined.
comfortably.
He twitched his ears, and scratched his wig, and thought.
"And I won't put up with it--_there_," said he, aloud. "It's only
At that moment he heard a sound.
"Wow! bow, wow, wow!" barked some dog, a little way off.
Then he lifted it up, and grew quite bold.
"I wonder if I could shoot anything?" thought he.
He aimed at a bird, and brought it down.
"Bravo, bravo, bravo!" cried he. "I'll take this gun, and then if
"Just let them come along
And they shall all soon see,
That they're all in the wrong
To plague and bother me.
Although I'm but a hare,
I think I'm very smart,
And can--let them beware--
Right well take my own part."
So he sang, as he sat one day polishing up his gun.
Then the man stole nearer, and peeped round a tree.
The man only laughed, for it was preposterous the idea of a Hare
catching a man, instead of a man catching a hare.
The Strong Man laughed, as if he didn't believe the Invalid.
The Strong Man was ashamed to refuse.
"But I'm not sleepy," said the Strong Man.
"Dear, dear," said the Strong Man, "this is very tiresome."
Presently an old lady looked in.
"Here," said he, "Take this, it will do you good."
THE Kite laughed and chuckled to himself until his paper fairly
crackled.
"We shall have such a game," said he to his paper Tails.
"We mostly do," squeaked the Tails.
There were eighteen of them, and they were all very frisky.
The Kite first winked one eye, then the other, then winked both
together.
"Don't know," said the Tails.
"Oh," said the String. "We mostly do."
"Then what _do_ you mean?" said the String, who didn't care about
"Eh?" said the String.
"Well, but--" said one Tail, timidly.
"_Well_, but what?" snapped the Kite. "You don't know what you're
"Master Walter, let's fly _you_ to day!"
Walter stared and laughed.
"You couldn't," said he. "You're only made of paper."
"Let us try," said the Kite.
I think you will own
That it is very rare
To see fishes and frogs
Sail about in the air,
While the birds and the poultry
Are swimming about
Like so many mackerel
Or pikes, sprats, or trout,
In old times, the fishes,
And birds, were content
To remain all their lives
In their _own_ element.
Things are different now:
They have changed the old times,
Turned the world topsy-turvy,
With no reasons or rhymes.
But I think you'll agree
It is simply absurd
For a fish to pretend
He is just like a bird.
But for birds to be fishes
Is really as bad:
One would fancy they all
Had surely gone mad.
For fishes cold water,
For birds a warm nest,
Of all places, truly,
Is _the_ very best.
"My dear," cried the Lion, "_such_ a piece of news!"
"Yes," said the Lion. "Just guess, my love."
"Well--what? How tiresome you are," said the Lioness.
"Well, they _are_ Beasts and Cubs, ain't they?" said the Lion.
"Oh, I'm not dressed," said the Lioness.
"You never are," said the Lion.
"All right, my dear," said the Lioness.
"Quite time too," answered the Lion.
"That's what _I_ say," grumbled the Elm.
"I know what we ought to do," said the Birch, "Whip them."
"Chop them up," cried the Plane Tree, who was fond of carpentry.
"Oh, oh, oh," cried Hans.
"Ho, ho, ho," cried the trees, maliciously.