The Book of Humorous Verse
Chapter 97 : The farmer's daughter hath soft brown hair; (_b.u.t.ter and eggs and a pound of ch

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.

PART II

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 new 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 follow'd him o'er the misty leas.

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

_Charles Stuart Calverley._

DISASTER

'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour!

My fondest hopes would not decay; I never loved a tree or flower Which was the first to fade away!

The garden, where I used to delve Short-frock'd, still yields me pinks in plenty; The pear-tree that I climbed at twelve I see still blossoming, at twenty.

I never nursed a dear gazelle; But I was given a parroquet-- (How I did nurse him if unwell!) He's imbecile, but lingers yet.

He's green, with an enchanting tuft; He melts me with his small black eye; He'd look inimitable stuffed, And knows it--but he will not die!

I had a kitten--I was rich In pets--but all too soon my kitten Became a full-sized cat, by which I've more than once been scratched and bitten And when for sleep her limbs she curl'd One day beside her untouch'd plateful, And glided calmly from the world, I freely own that I was grateful.

And then I bought a dog--a queen!

Ah, Tiny, dear departing pug!

She lives, but she is past sixteen And scarce can crawl across the rug.

I loved her beautiful and kind; Delighted in her pert bow-wow; But now she snaps if you don't mind; 'Twere lunacy to love her now.

I used to think, should e'er mishap Betide my crumple-visaged Ti, In shape of prowling thief, or trap, Or coa.r.s.e bull-terrier--I should die.

But ah! disasters have their use, And life might e'en be too suns.h.i.+ny; Nor would I make myself a goose, If some big dog should swallow Tiny.

_Charles Stuart Calverley._

WORDSWORTHIAN REMINISCENCE

I walked and came upon a picket fence, And every picket went straight up and down, And all at even intervals were placed, All painted green, all pointed at the top, And every one inextricably nailed Unto two several cross-beams, which did go, Not as the pickets, but quite otherwise, And they two crossed, but back of all were posts.

O beauteous picket fence, can I not draw Instruction from thee? Yea, for thou dost teach, That even as the pickets are made fast To that which seems all at cross purposes, So are our human lives, to the Divine, But, oh! not purposeless, for even as they Do keep stray cows from trespa.s.s, we, no doubt, Together guard some plan of Deity.

Thus did I moralise. And from the beams And pickets drew a lesson to myself,-- But where the posts came in, I could not tell.

_Unknown._

INSPECT US

Out of the clothes that cover me Tight as the skin is on the grape, I thank whatever G.o.ds may be For my unconquerable shape.

In the fell clutch of bone and steel I have not whined nor cried aloud; Whatever else I may conceal, I show my thoughts unshamed and proud.

The forms of other actorines I put away into the shade; All of them flossy near-blondines Find and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how straight the tape, How cold the weather is, or warm-- I am the mistress of my shape-- I am the captain of my form.

_Edith Daniell._

THE MESSED DAMOZEL

AT THE CUBIST EXHIBITION

The Messed Damozel leaned out From the gold cube of Heav'n; There were three cubes within her hands, And the cubes in her hair were seven; I looked, and looked, and looked, and looked-- I could not see her, even.

Her robe, a cube from clasp to hem, Was moderately clear; Methought I saw two cubic eyes, When I had looked a year; But when I turned to tell the world, Those eyes did disappear!

It was the rampart of some house That she was standing on; That much, at least, was plain to me As her I gazed upon; But even as I gazed, alas!

The rampart, too, was gone!

(I saw her smile!) Oh, no, I didn't, Though long mine eyes did stare; The cubes closed down and shut her out; I wept in deep despair; But this I know, and know full well-- _She simply wasn't there!_

_Charles Hanson Towne._

A MELTON MOWBRAY PORK-PIE

Strange pie that is almost a pa.s.sion, O pa.s.sion immoral for pie!

Unknown are the ways that they fas.h.i.+on, Unknown and unseen of the eye.

The pie that is marbled and mottled, The pie that digests with a sigh: For all is not Ba.s.s that is bottled, And all is not pork that is pie.