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Mother Goose for Grown-ups
TO CONSTANCE
In memory of other days,
Dear critic, when your whispered praise
Cheered on the limping pen.
How short, how sweet those younger hours,
How bright our suns, how few our showers,
Alas, we knew not then!
If but, long leagues across the seas,
The trivial charm of rhymes like these
Shall serve to link us twain
An instant in the olden spell
That once we knew and loved so well,
I have not worked in vain!
NOTE
I have pleasure in acknowledging the courteous permission of the editors to reprint in this form such of the following verses as were originally published in Harper's Magazine, the Saturday Evening Post, and the London Sketch.
G. W. C.
THE ADMIRABLE ASSERTIVENESS OF JILTED JACK
A noble and a generous mind
Was Jack's;
Folks knew he would not talk behind
Their backs:
But when some maiden fresh and young,
At Jack a bit of banter flung,
She soon discovered that his tongue
Was sharp as any ax.
A flirt of most engaging wiles
Was Jill;
On Jack she lavished all her smiles,
Until
Her slave (and he was not the first)
Of lovesick swains became the worst,
His glance a strong box might have burst,
His sighs were fit to kill.
One April morning, clear and fair,
When both
Of staying home and idling there
In sloth
Were weary, Jack remarked to Jill:
"Oh, what's the sense in sitting still?
Let's mount the slope of yonder hill."
And she was nothing loth.
But as she answered: "What's the use?"
The gruff
Young swain replied: "Oh, there's excuse
Enough.
Your doting parents water lack;
We'll fill a pail and bring it back."
(The reader will perceive that Jack
Was putting up a bluff.)
Thus hand in hand the tempting hill
They scaled,
And Jack proposed a kiss to Jill,
And failed!
One backward start, one step too bold,
And down the hill the couple rolled,
Resembling, if the truth were told,
A luggage train derailed.
With eyes ablaze with anger, she
Exclaimed:
"Well, who'd have thought! You'd ought to be
Ashamed!
You quite forget yourself, it's plain,
So I'll forget you, too. Insane
Young man, I'll say oafweederzane."
(Her German might be blamed.)
But Jack, whose linguist's pride was pricked,
To shine,
Asked: "Meine Königin will nicht
Be mine?"
And when she answered: "Nein" in spleen,
He cried: "Then in the soup tureen
You'll stay. You're not the only queen
Discarded for a nein!"
The moral's made for maidens young
And small:
If you would in a foreign tongue
Enthrall,
Lead off undaunted in a Swede
Or Spanish speech, and you'll succeed,
But they who in a German lead
No favor win at all.
THE BLATANT BRUTALITY OF LITTLE BOW PEEP
Though she was only a shepherdess,
Tending the meekest of sheep,
Never was African leopardess
Crosser than Little Bow Peep:
Quite apathetic, impassible
People described her as: "That
Wayward, contentious, irascible,
Testy, cantankerous brat!"
Yet, as she dozed in a grotto-like
Sort of a kind of a nook,
She was so charmingly Watteau-like,
What with her sheep and her crook;
"She is a dryad or nymph," any
Casual passer would think.
Poets pronounced her a symphony,
All in the palest of pink.
Thus it was not enigmatical,
That the young shepherd who first
Found her asleep, in ecstatical
Sighs of felicity burst:
Such was his sudden beatitude
That, as he gazed at her so,
Daphnis gave vent to this platitude:
"My! Ain't she elegant though!"
Roused from some dream of Arcadia,
Little Bow Peep with a start
Answered him: "I ain't afraid o' yer!
P'raps you imagine you're smart!"
Daphnis protested impulsively,
Blushing as red as a rose;
All was in vain. She convulsively
Punched the young man in the nose!
All of it's true, every word of it!
I was not present to peep,
But if you ask how I heard of it,
Please to remember the sheep.
There is no need of excuse. You will
See how such scandals occur:
If you recall Mother Goose, you will
Know what tail-bearers they were!
Moral: This pair irreclaimable
Might have made Seraphim weep,
But who can pick the most blamable?
Both saw a little beau peep!
THE
