I'll tell thee everything I can;
There's little to relate.
I saw an aged, aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
"Who are you, aged man?" I said,
" And how is it you live?"
And his answer trickled through my head
like water through a sieve.

He said "I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men," he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread -
A trifle if you please."

But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one's whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
I cried, "Come tell me how you live!"
And thumped him on the head.

His accents mild took up the tale:
He said, "I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland's Macassar Oil -
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all
They give me for my toil."

But I was thinking of a way
To feed one's self on batter,
And so go on from day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side
Until his face was blue:
"Come tell me how you live," I cried,
"And what it is you do!" 


He said "I hunt for haddocks' eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
Or coin of silvery shine,
But for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.

"I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search for grassy knolls
For wheels of hansom-cabs.
And that's the way" (he gave a wink)
"By which I get my wealth -
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour's noble health." 


I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai Bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for the wish that he
Might drink my noble health.    

And now if e'er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know -
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo -
That summer evening long ago
A-sitting on a gate.                                 

Lewis Carroll

---

Жизнь безотрадна и горька -  
Тяжелый труд и горе. 
Намедни встретил старика,  
Сидел он на заборе. 

"Как поживаешь, дармоед?!" -  
Я закричал тогда. 
В ушах журчал его ответ, 
Как в решете вода. 

"Я караулю мотыльков, 
Влетающих в амбар; 
Из них варю бараний плов 
И сразу - на базар. 

Товар сбываю морякам, 
Плывущим в шторм и мрак, 
По три рубля за килограмм. 
Вот так-то, сэр... Вот так." 

Я вздумал уши в этот миг  
Покрасить в синий цвет, но 
Потом всегда носить парик, 
Чтоб было незаметно. 

Не разобравши потому, 
Что за муру он нес, 
Я подзатыльник дал ему 
И повторил вопрос. 

Он продолжал без лишних слов: 
"Тихонечко живем, 
Вот, собираем слизняков, 
На фабрику сдаем.  

Из них готовят, ходит слух, 
Там пасту "Океан", 
Но платят нам не больше двух 
Рублей за чемодан. 

Я собираю сорняки 
В осиновом лесу, 
Ищу калоши у реки 
И на базар несу. 

Тружусь, пока силенки есть," - 
Он подмигнув сказал. 
"За Вас сегодня, Ваша Честь, 
Я осушу бокал." 

План у меня как раз созрел, 
Продуманный вполне, 
Кузнецкий мост, чтоб не ржавел, 
Прокипятить в вине. 

"Ну что ж," - подвел итоги я - 
"Спасибо, старина! 
Мне мысль понравилась твоя 
Сушить бокал вина."