Читать книгу Mother Goose for Grown-ups - Carryl Guy Wetmore - Страница 5

She was one of those creatures

Whose features

Are hard beyond any reclaim;

And she loved in a hovel

To grovel,

And she hadn't a cent to her name.

She owned neither gallants

Nor talents;

She borrowed extensively, too,

From all of her dozens

Of cousins,

And never refunded a sou:

Yet all they said in abuse of her

Was: "She is prouder than Lucifer!"

(That, I must say, without meaning to blame,

Is always the way with that kind of a dame!)

There never was jolli-

Er colley

Than Old Mother Hubbard had found,

Though cheaply she bought him,

She'd taught him

To follow her meekly around:

But though she would lick him

And kick him,

It never had any effect;

He always was howling

And growling,

But goodness! What could you expect?

Colleys were never to flourish meant

'Less they had plenty of nourishment,

All that he had were the feathers she'd pluck

Off an occasional chicken or duck.

The colley was barred in

The garden,

He howled and he wailed and he whined.

The neighbors indignant,

Malignant

Petitions unanimous signed.

"The nuisance grows nightly,"

Politely

They wrote. "It's an odious hound,

And either you'll fill him,

Or kill him,

Or else he must go to the pound.

For if this howling infernally

Is to continue nocturnally —

Pardon us, ma'am, if we seem to be curt —

Somebody's apt to get horribly hurt!"

Mother Hubbard cried loudly

And proudly:

"Lands sakes! but you give yourselves airs!

I'll take the law to you

And sue you."

The neighbors responded: "Who cares?

We none of us care if

The sheriff

Lock every man jack of us up;

We won't be repining

At fining

So long as we're rid of the pup!"

They then proceeded to mount a sign,

Bearing this ominous countersign:

"Freemen! The moment has come to protest

And Old Mother Hubbard delendum est!"

They marched to her gateway,

And straightway

They trampled all over her lawn;

Most rudely they harried

And carried

Her round on a rail until dawn.

They marred her, and jarred her,

And tarred her

And feathered her, just as they should,

Of speech they bereft her,

And left her

With: "Now do you think you'll be good!"

The moral's a charmingly pleasing one.

While we would deprecate teasing one,

Still, when a dame has politeness rebuffed,

She certainly ought to be collared and cuffed.