The Cunning Woman
On all Arcadia’s sunny plain,On all Arcadia’s hill,None were so blithe as BILL and JANE,So blithe as JANE and BILL.
No social earthquake e’er occurredTo rack their common mind:To them a Panic was a word—A Crisis, empty wind.
No Stock Exchange disturbed the ladWith overwhelming shocks—BILL ploughed with all the shares he had,JANE planted all her stocks.
And learn in what a simple wayTheir pleasures they enhanced—JANE danced like any lamb all day,BILL piped as well as danced.
Surrounded by a twittling crew,Of linnet, lark, and thrush,BILL treated his young lady toThis sentimental gush:
“Oh, JANE, how true I am to you!How true you are to me!And how we woo, and how we coo!So fond a pair are we!
“To think, dear JANE, that anyways.Your chiefest end and aimIs, one of these fine summer days,To bear my humble name!”
Quoth JANE, “Well, as you put the case,I’m true enough, no doubt,But then, you see, in this here placeThere’s none to cut you out.
“But, oh! if anybody came—A Lord or any such—I do not think your humble nameWould fascinate me much.
“For though your mates, you often boast.You distance out-and-out;Still, in the abstract, you’re a mostUncompromising lout!”
Poor BILL, he gave a heavy sigh,He tried in vain to speak—A fat tear started to each eyeAnd coursed adown each cheek.
For, oh! right well in truth he knewThat very self-same day,The LORD DE JACOB PILLALOOWas coming there to stay!
The LORD DE JACOB PILLALOOAll proper maidens shun—He loves all women, it is true,But never marries one.
Now JANE, with all her mad self-will,Was no coquette—oh no!She really loved her faithful BILL,And thus she tuned her woe:
“Oh, willow, willow, o’er the lea!And willow once again!The Peer will fall in love with me!Why wasn’t I made plain?”
A cunning woman lived hard by,A sorceressing dame,MACCATACOMB DE SALMON-EYEWas her uncommon name.
To her good JANE, with kindly yearnFor BILL’S increasing pain,Repaired in secrecy to learnHow best to make her plain.
“Oh, JANE,” the worthy woman said,“This mystic phial keep,And rub its liquor in your headBefore you go to sleep.
“When you awake next day, I trow,You’ll look in form and hueTo others just as you do now—But not to PILLALOO!
“When you approach him, you will findHe’ll think you coarse—unkempt—And rudely bid you get behind,With undisguised contempt.”
The LORD DE PILLALOO arrivedWith his expensive train,And when in state serenely hived,He sent for BILL and JANE.
“Oh, spare her, LORD OF PILLALOO!(Said BILL) if wed you be,There’s anything I’d rather doThan flirt with LADY P.”
The Lord he gazed in Jenny’s eyes,He looked her through and through:The cunning woman’s propheciesWere clearly coming true.
LORD PILLALOO, the Rustic’s Bane(Bad person he, and proud),He laughed Ha! ha! at pretty JANE,And sneered at her aloud!
He bade her get behind him then,And seek her mother’s stye—Yet to her native countrymenShe was as fair as aye!
MACCATACOMB, continue green!Grow, SALMON-EYE, in might,Except for you, there might have beenThe deuce’s own delight