A Nonsense Anthology Part 32

TRUST IN WOMEN

When these things following be done to our intent, Then put women in trust and confident.

When nettles in winter bring forth roses red, And all manner of thorn trees bear figs naturally, And geese bear pearls in every mead, And laurel bear cherries abundantly, And oaks bear dates very plenteously, And kisks give of honey superfluence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When box bear paper in every land and town, And thistles bear berries in every place, And pikes have naturally feathers in their crown, And bulls of the sea sing a good ba.s.s, And men be the s.h.i.+ps fishes trace, And in women be found no insipience, Then put them in trust and confidence.

When whitings do walk forests to chase harts, And herrings their horns in forests boldly blow, And marmsets mourn in moors and lakes, And gurnards shoot rooks out of a crossbow, And goslings hunt the wolf to overthrow, And sprats bear spears in armes of defence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When swine be cunning in all points of music, And a.s.ses be doctors of every science, And cats do heal men by practising of physic, And buzzards to scripture give any credence, And merchants buy with horn, instead of groats and pence, And pyes be made poets for their eloquence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When sparrows build churches on a height, And wrens carry sacks unto the mill, And curlews carry timber houses to dight, And fomalls bear b.u.t.ter to market to sell, And woodc.o.c.ks bear woodknives cranes to kill, And greenfinches to goslings do obedience, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When crows take salmon in woods and parks, And be take with swifts and snails, And camels in the air take swallows and larks, And mice move mountains by wagging of their tails, And s.h.i.+pmen take a ride instead of sails, And when wives to their husbands do no offence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

When antelopes surmount eagles in flight, And swans be swifter than hawks of the tower, And wrens set gos-hawks by force and might, And muskets make verjuice of crabbes sour, And s.h.i.+ps sail on dry land, silt give flower, And apes in Westminster give judgment and sentence, Then put women in trust and confidence.

_Anonymous_.

HERE IS THE TALE

AFTER RUDYARD KIPLING

_Here is the tale--and you must make the most of it!

Here is the rhyme--ah, listen and attend!

Backwards--forwards--read it all and boast of it If you are anything the wiser at the end_!

Now Jack looked up--it was time to sup, and the bucket was yet to fill, And Jack looked round for a s.p.a.ce and frowned, then beckoned his sister Jill, And twice he pulled his sister's hair, and thrice he smote her side; "Ha' done, ha' done with your impudent fun--ha' done with your games!" she cried; "You have made mud-pies of a marvellous size--finger and face are black, You have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay--now up and wash you, Jack!

Or else, or ever we reach our home, there waiteth an angry dame-- Well you know the weight of her blow--the supperless open shame!

Wash, if you will, on yonder hill--wash, if you will, at the spring,-- Or keep your dirt, to your certain hurt, and an imminent walloping!"

"You must wash--you must scrub--you must sc.r.a.pe!" growled Jack, "you must traffic with cans and pails, Nor keep the spoil of the good brown soil in the rim of your finger-nails!

The morning path you must tread to your bath--you must wash ere the night descends, And all for the cause of conventional laws and the soapmakers'

dividends!

But if 'tis sooth that our meal in truth depends on our was.h.i.+ng, Jill, By the sacred right of our appet.i.te--haste--haste to the top of the hill!"

They have trodden the Way of the Mire and Clay, they have toiled and travelled far, They have climbed to the brow of the hill-top now, where the bubbling fountains are, They have taken the bucket and filled it up--yea, filled it up to the brim; But Jack he sneered at his sister Jill, and Jill she jeered at him: "What, blown already!" Jack cried out (and his was a biting mirth!) "You boast indeed of your wonderful speed--but what is the boasting worth?

Now, if you can run as the antelope runs, and if you can turn like a hare, Come, race me, Jill, to the foot of the hill--and prove your boasting fair!"

"Race? What is a race" (and a mocking face had Jill as she spake the word) "Unless for a prize the runner tries? The truth indeed ye heard, For I can run as the antelope runs, and I can turn like a hare:-- The first one down wins half-a-crown--and I will race you there!"

"Yea, if for the lesson that you will learn (the lesson of humbled pride) The price you fix at two-and-six, it shall not be denied; Come, take your stand at my right hand, for here is the mark we toe: Now, are you ready, and are you steady? Gird up your petticoats! Go!"

And Jill she ran like a winging bolt, a bolt from the bow released, But Jack like a stream of the lightning gleam, with its pathway duly greased; He ran down hill in front of Jill like a summer-lightning flash-- Till he suddenly tripped on a stone, or slipped, and fell to the earth with a crash.

Then straight did rise on his wondering eyes the constellations fair, Arcturus and the Pleiades, the Greater and Lesser Bear, The swirling rain of a comet's train he saw, as he swiftly fell-- And Jill came tumbling after him with a loud triumphant yell: "You have won, you have won, the race is done! And as for the wager laid-- You have fallen down with a broken crown--the half-crown debt is paid!"

They have taken Jack to the room at the back where the family medicines are, And he lies in bed with a broken head in a halo of vinegar; While, in that Jill had laughed her fill as her brother fell to earth, She had felt the sting of a walloping--she hath paid the price of her mirth!

_Here is the tale--and now you have the whole of it, Here is the story--well and wisely planned, Beauty--Duty--these make up the soul of it-- But, ah, my little readers, will you mark and understand_?

_Anthony C. Deane_.

THE AULD WIFE

The auld wife sat at her ivied door, (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) A thing she had frequently done before; And her spectacles lay on her ap.r.o.ned knees.

The piper he piped on the hill-top high, (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) Till the cow said "I die" and the goose asked "Why;"

And the dog said nothing, but searched for fleas.

The farmer he strode through the square farmyard; (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) His last brew of ale was a trifle hard, The connection of which with the plot one sees.

The farmer's daughter hath frank blue eyes, (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) She hears the rooks caw in the windy skies, As she sits at her lattice and sh.e.l.ls her peas.

The farmer's daughter hath ripe red lips; (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) If you try to approach her, away she skips Over tables and chairs with apparent ease.

The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair; (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And I met with a ballad, I can't say where, Which wholly consisted of lines like these.

She sat with her hands 'neath her dimpled cheeks, (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) And spake not a word. While a lady speaks There is hope, but she didn't even sneeze.

She sat with her hands 'neath her crimson cheeks; (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_) She gave up mending her father's breeks, And let the cat roll in her best chemise.

She sat with her hands 'neath her burning cheeks (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_), And gazed at the piper for thirteen weeks; Then she followed him out o'er the misty leas.

Her sheep followed her as their tails did them (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of cheese_), And this song is considered a perfect gem, And as to the meaning, it's what you please.

_Charles S. Calverley_.

NOT I

Some like drink In a pint pot, Some like to think, Some not.

Strong Dutch cheese, Old Kentucky Rye, Some like these; Not I.

Some like Poe, And others like Scott; Some like Mrs. Stowe, Some not.

Some like to laugh, Some like to cry, Some like to chaff; Not I.