Sagittulae, Random Verses Part 14

Now Carpenter Smith was young, steady and still, And wherever he went, worked and played with a will: To bed he went early, and early did rise; So, of course, he was healthy, and wealthy, and wise.

But John he grew tired of a bachelor's life, So he looked all around him in search of a wife; And his eyes, as they wandered, again and again Returned to Eliza and Emily Jane.

And whenever those maidens encountered his eye, Their pulses beat quickly (perhaps you know _why_); They each of them thought him a wonderful Don, And wished to be married to Carpenter John.

But John, as you've heard, was a prudent young man; And determined their faults and their merits to scan; Says he, "If I marry, I'm tied for my life; "So it's well to be cautious in choosing a wife."

Now I'm sorry to say that young Emily Jane Was disposed to be rather conceited and vain; In fact, for the truth I'm obliged to confess, Was decidedly fond of extravagant dress.

So she thought the best way to the Carpenter's heart Was to purchase gay dresses and finery smart; In the carrier's van off to Bedford she went, And many weeks' wages in finery spent.

Her dress it was blue, and her ribbons were green, And her chignon the highest that ever was seen, And perched on the top, heavy-laden with flowers, Was a bonnet, embosomed in beautiful bowers.

So red, as she walked to the Church, was her shawl That the bull in the farm-yard did bellow and bawl; And so high were her heels that on entering the door She slipped, and she stumbled, and fell on the floor.

Says Carpenter Smith, "It's decidedly plain "That I'd better keep clear of that Emily Jane:"

So from Emily Jane he averted his eye, And just at that moment Eliza pa.s.sed by.

Now Eliza had thought, "If his heart I subdue, "It shall not be by dresses and finery new: "For a lover who's taken by ornaments gay "Will love some one else ere a week pa.s.s away."

So her ribbons were lilac; white straw was her bonnet; Her dress was light grey, with dark braiding upon it; Her jacket was black; and her boots of stout leather Were fitted for walking in all sorts of weather.

She was not very pretty, and yet in her smile There was something that charmed by its freedom from guile: And tho' lowly her lot, yet her natural grace Made her look like a lady in figure and face.

A rose from the garden she wore on her breast, And John, as her fingers he tenderly press'd, Seemed to feel a sharp arrow ('twas Cupid's first dart) Come straight from the rosebud and enter his heart.

Now John and Eliza are husband and wife; Their quarrels are few, and contented their life; They eat and they drink and they dress in good taste, For their money they spend on their wants, not in waste.

But I'm sorry to say that Miss Emily Jane Has still an aversion to dress that is plain; And the consequence is that she always has stayed, And is likely to stay, a disconsolate maid.

MORAL.

Young ladies, I hope you'll attend to my moral, When you hear it, I'm sure you and I shall not quarrel: If you're pretty, fine dress is not needed to show it; If you're ugly, fine dress will make all the world know it.

Young men, if you wish, as I trust you all do, A partner for worse or for better to woo, Don't marry a _peac.o.c.k_ dressed out in gay feathers, But a _wife_ guaranteed to wear well in all weathers.

BEDFORDs.h.i.+RE BALLAD.--II.

"ONE GLa.s.s OF BEER."

Ne quid nimis.

Tom Smith was the son of a Bedfords.h.i.+re man; (The Smiths, we all know, are a numerous clan) He was happy and healthy and handsome and strong, And could sing on occasion a capital song.

His father had once been a labourer poor, But had always contrived to keep want from the door; And by work and by thrift had enough in his pocket To rent a small farm from his landlord, and stock it.

He died: Tom succeeded: the ladies all said It was high time he went to the Church to be wed; And Sarah and Clara, and f.a.n.n.y and Bess, Confessed if he "offer'd" perhaps they'd say "Yes."

But Tom fixed his eyes on the Miller's young daughter, And was only awaiting the right time to court her; So one day as he saw her walk out from the mill, He set off in pursuit with a very good will.

Now Tom, I must tell you, had one little fault, He was rather too fond of a mixture of malt; In fact, if my meaning is not very clear, I'm afraid he was rather too "partial to Beer."

Says Tom to himself as he followed the maid, "I should like just a gla.s.s, for I'm rather afraid"-- No doubt at such times men are nervous and queer, So he stopped at the Public for _one gla.s.s of Beer_.

He had his one gla.s.s, and then two or three more, And when he set out from the Public-house door He saw a sad sight, and he saw it with groans-- Mary Anne on the arm of Theophilus Jones.

Yes, Theophilus Jones was a steady young man, Who enjoyed but was never too fond of his can; And while Smith in the public was stopping to swill, Jones had woo'd and had won the fair maid of the mill.

Tom homeward returned like a runaway pup, When the lash of the whipper-in touches him up; And he sighed to himself, "It's most painfully clear That I've lost a _good wife_ for a _bad gla.s.s of Beer_."

At length he was married to Emily Brown-- A tidier girl there was none in the town-- The church bells were ringing, the village was gay, As Tom met his bride in her bridal array.

For a twelvemonth or more things went on pretty straight; Tom went early to work, and was never home late; But after that time a sad change, it would seem, Came over the spirit of Emily's dream.

The Rector missed Tom from his place in the choir; In the evening his wife sat alone by the fire; When her husband came home he was never too early, And his manner was dull, and at times even surly.

He was late in the autumn in sowing his wheat; His bullocks and sheep had disease of the feet; His sows had small litters; his taters went bad; And he took _just a gla.s.s_ when he felt rather sad.

The Rector's "good lady" was pa.s.sing one day, And looked in, her usual visit to pay-- "How dy'e do, Mrs. Smith? Is the baby quite well?

Have you got any eggs, or young chickens to sell?"

But Emily Smith couldn't answer a word; At length her reply indistinctly was heard; "I'm all of a mullock [1], it's no use denying--"

And with that the poor woman she burst out a crying.

Then after a time with her ap.r.o.n she dried The tears from her eyes, and more calmly replied, "I don't mind confessing the truth, ma'am, to you, For I've found in you always a comforter true.

Things are going to ruin; the land's full o' twitch; There's no one to clean out a drain or a ditch; The gates are all broken, the fences all down; And the state of our farm is the talk of the town.

We've lost a young horse, and another's gone lame; Our hay's not worth carting; the wheat's much the same; Our pigs and our cattle are always astray; Our milk's good-for-nothing; our hens never lay.

Tom ain't a bad husband, as husbands do go; (That ain't saying much, as I daresay you know) But there's one thing that puts him and me out o' gear-- He's always a craving for _one gla.s.s of Beer_.

He never gets drunk, but he's always half-fuddled; He wastes all his time, and his wits are all muddled; "We've notice to quit for next Michaelmas year-- All owing to Tom and his _one gla.s.s of Beer_!"

MORAL.

My friends, I believe we shall none of us quarrel If I try from this story to draw out a moral; Tom Smith, I am told, has now taken the pledge; Let us hope he will keep the right side of the hedge.

But because men like Tom find it hard to _refrain_, It's hard that we temperate folk should _abstain_; Tea and coffee no doubt are most excellent cheer But a hard-working man likes his _one gla.s.s of Beer_.

What with 'chining [2] and hoeing and ploughing and drill, A gla.s.s of good beer will not make a man ill; But one gla.s.s, like poison, you never must touch-- It's the gla.s.s which is commonly called _one too much_!