who night and day belches “jug-o-rum” to a teetotaling bog; whose noisy lieder of drink and bawds last all summer long; who nibbles asterisks of water striders dimpling the surface of the black pond and ensnares tangy damselflies with the quick ribbon of his tongue; who after all is not a Prince in disguise; who suffers himself to be pithed for science; who sculls through sweet mud in la nostalgie de la boue; who is Frog among frogs; who needs no god; who does not know he will die.