The Book of Humorous Verse
Chapter 122 : There came a man from the house hard by At the well to fill his pail; On the well-side

There came a man from the house hard by At the well to fill his pail; On the well-side he rested it, And he bade the stranger hail.

"Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or hast thy good woman, if one thou hast, Ever here in Cornwall been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life She has drank of the Well of St. Keyne."

"I have left a good woman who never was here,"

The stranger he made reply; "But that my draught should be the better for that I pray you answer me why?"

"St. Keyne," quoth the Cornishman, "many a time Drank of this crystal well, And before the angels summon'd her, She laid on the water a spell.

"If the husband of this gifted well Shall drink before his wife, A happy man thenceforth is he, For he shall be master for life.

"But if the wife should drink of it first, G.o.d help the husband then!"

The stranger stooped to the Well of St. Keyne, And drank of the water again.

"You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes?"

He to the Cornishman said: But the Cornishman smiled as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head.

"I hasten'd as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch; But i' faith she had been wiser than me, For she took a bottle to church."

_Robert Southey._

THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS

The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair!

Bishop, and Abbot, and Prior were there; Many a monk, and many a friar, Many a knight and many a squire, With a great many more of lesser degree-- In sooth, a goodly company; And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee, Never, I ween, Was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims!

In and out Through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Here and there, Like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and cates, And dishes and plates, Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall, Mitre and crosier, he hopped upon all!

With saucy air, He perched on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;

And he peered in the face Of his Lords.h.i.+p's grace, With a satisfied look, as if he would say, "We two are the greatest folks here to-day!"

And the priests, with awe, As such freaks they saw, Said, "The devil must be in that little Jackdaw!"

The feast was over, the board was cleared, The flawns and the custards had all disappeared, And six little singing-boys--dear little souls!

In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles, Came, in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through!

A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed and filled with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match.

Two nice little boys, rather more grown, Carried lavender-water and eau-de-Cologne; And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap, Worthy of was.h.i.+ng the hands of the Pope.

One little boy more A napkin bore, Of the best white diaper, fringed with pink, And a cardinal's hat marked in "permanent ink."

The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dressed all in white: From his finger he draws His costly turquoise, And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, Deposits it straight By the side of his plate, While the nice little boys on his Eminence wait; Till, when n.o.body's dreaming of any such thing, That little Jackdaw hops off with the ring!

There's a cry and a shout, And a deuce of a rout, And n.o.body seems to know what they're about, But the monks have their pockets all turned inside out; The friars are kneeling, And hunting and feeling The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling.

The Cardinal drew Off each plum-coloured shoe, And left his red stockings exposed to the view; He peeps and he feels, In the toes and the heels; They turn up the dishes, they turn up the plates, They take up the poker and poke out the grates, They turn up the rugs, They examine the mugs-- But no! no such thing; They can't find |THE RING|!

And the Abbot declared that "when n.o.body twigged it, Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged it."

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book!

In holy anger and pious grief, He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!

He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed; From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head; He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright; He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking, He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying; He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying; He cursed him in living, he cursed him in dying!-- Never was heard such a terrible curse!

But, what gave rise To no little surprise, n.o.body seemed one penny the worse!

The day was gone, The night came on, The monks and the friars they searched till dawn; When the Sacristan saw, On crumpled claw, Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw; No longer gay, As on yesterday; His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way; His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand, His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried "|That's him|!

That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing!

That's the thief that has got my Lord Cardinal's ring!"

The poor little Jackdaw, When the monks he saw, Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw, And turned his bald head, as much as to say, "Pray be so good as to walk this way!"

Slower and slower He limped on before, Till they came to the back of the belfry door, Where the first thing they saw, Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the |RING| in the nest of that little Jackdaw!

Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his book, And off that terrible curse he took; The mute expression Served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full rest.i.tution, The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!

When these words were heard, That poor little bird Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really absurd; He grew sleek and fat; In addition to that, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat!

His tail waggled more Even than before; But no longer it wagged with an impudent air, No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair, He hopped now about With a gait devout; At matins, at vespers, he never was out; And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads.

If any one lied, or if any one swore, Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to snore, That good Jackdaw Would give a great "Caw!"

As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!"

While many remarked, as his manners they saw, That they "never had known such a pious Jackdaw!"

He long lived the pride Of that country side, And at last in the odour of sanct.i.ty died; When, as words were too faint His merits to paint, The Conclave determined to make him a Saint; And on newly-made Saints and Popes, as you know, It's the custom, at Rome, new names to bestow, So they canonised him by the name of Jim Crow!

_Richard Harris Barham._

THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY

The Lady Jane was tall and slim, The Lady Jane was fair And Sir Thomas, her lord, was stout of limb, And his cough was short, and his eyes were dim, And he wore green "specs" with a tortoise sh.e.l.l rim, And his hat was remarkably broad in the brim, And she was uncommonly fond of him-- And they were a loving pair!

And wherever they went, or wherever they came, Every one hailed them with loudest acclaim; Far and wide, The people cried, All sorts of pleasure, and no sort of pain, To Sir Thomas the good, and the fair Lady Janel

Now Sir Thomas the good, be it well understood, Was a man of very contemplative mood-- He would pour by the hour, o'er a weed or a flower, Or the slugs, that came crawling out after a shower; Black beetles, b.u.mble-bees, blue-bottle flies, And moths, were of no small account in his eyes; An "industrious flea," he'd by no means despise, While an "old daddy long-legs," whose long legs and thighs Pa.s.sed the common in shape, or in color, or size, He was wont to consider an absolute prize.

Giving up, in short, both business and sport, he Abandoned himself, _tout entier_, to philosophy.

Now as Lady Jane was tall and slim, And Lady Jane was fair.

And a good many years the junior of him, There are some might be found entertaining a notion, That such an entire, and exclusive devotion, To that part of science, folks style entomology, Was a positive shame, And, to such a fair dame, Really demanded some sort of apology; Ever poking his nose into this, and to that-- At a gnat, or a bat, or a cat, or a rat, At great ugly things, all legs and wings, With nasty long tails, armed with nasty long stings And eternally thinking, and blinking, and winking, At grubs--when he ought of _her_ to be thinking.

But no! ah no! 'twas by no means so With the fair Lady Jane, _Tout au contraire_, no lady so fair, Was e'er known to wear more contented an air; And--let who would call--every day she was there Propounding receipts for some delicate fare, Some toothsome conserve, of quince, apple or pear Or distilling strong waters--or potting a hare-- Or counting her spoons, and her crockery ware; Enough to make less gifted visitors stare.

Nay more; don't suppose With such doings as those This account of her merits must come to a close; No!--examine her conduct more closely, you'll find She by no means neglected improving her mind; For there all the while with an air quite bewitching She sat herring-boning, tambouring, or st.i.tching, Or having an eye to affairs of the kitchen.

Close by her side, Sat her kinsman, MacBride-- Captain Dugald MacBride, Royal Scots Fusiliers;-- And I doubt if you'd find, in the whole of his clan, A more highly intelligent, worthy young man; And there he'd be sitting, While she was a-knitting, Reading aloud, with a very grave look, Some very "wise saw," from some very good book-- No matter who came, It was always the same, The Captain was reading aloud to the dame, Till, from having gone through half the books on the shelf, They were _almost_ as wise as Sir Thomas himself.

Well it happened one day-- I really can't say The particular month;--but I _think_ 'twas in May, 'Twas I _know_ in the spring-time, when "nature looks gay,"

As the poet observes--and on tree-top and spray, The dear little d.i.c.key birds carol away, That the whole of the house was thrown into affright, For no soul could conceive what was gone with the Knight.

It seems he had taken A light breakfast--bacon, An egg, a little broiled haddock--at most A round and a half of some hot b.u.t.tered toast, With a slice of cold sirloin from yesterday's roast.

And then, let me see,-- He had two,--perhaps three Cups, with sugar and cream, of strong gunpowder tea,-- But no matter for that-- He had called for his hat, With the brim that I've said was so broad and so flat, And his "specs" with the tortoise-sh.e.l.l rim, and his cane.