Classic Poem

Now back to the friar
I fain must desire
My reader's attention to turn;
Who is round the place looking,
While his fish are a-cooking,
A snug spot for a nap to discern.
A box full of worms he has laid by his side--
A present young Pat never fails to provide,
And gives him whenever he sees him.
Though often for fun he would place there instead
A snail or a frog, or defunct chicken's head;
It gave him such pleasure to tease him.
For old Peter was one who could not stand a joke,
And at one time young Pat got his head nearly broke
Through a comical trick which he played him.
For as slumb'ring one day by the water he sat,
Pat had fixed to his hook the stale corpse of a cat,
And then snug in the river's depth laid him.
Which the friar, when waking, had deemed a rich prize,
And his little mouth watered, and twinkled both eyes,
As in scales, in his mind's eye, he weighed him.
"I shall lose it, I fear;
I've no landing-net here:
I am sure it's a carp or a bream.
Should he run I am done,
While to help me there's none;
O that even young Pat could be seen!"
At that moment appeared,
And up suddenly reared
The head of Miss Puss, in a very droll way.
While a loud laugh up high,
In an oak-tree close by,
Told Peter who he for the trick had to pay.
"Oh, you imp of all mischief!" he cried, "come down here;
For this trick that you've served me I'll make you pay dear."
"No, thank you," said Pat, with a kind friendly nod;
"I'd rather--much rather--not taste of your rod."
Now who could stand this? Oh, not he! Round he lashed
His rod; and young Pat, who disliked to be thrashed,
Tried to climb up still higher, but losing his hold,
Swiftly down to the ground like an o'er-ripe pear roll'd.
"His neck's broke!" said Peter; "the mad, careless calf!"
But Pat rose unhurt, and ran off with a laugh.

Now deep in the forest the friar had sought
A snug shady spot, where no mortal he thought
Would ere chance to disturb his repose;
For with talking and fright
He is tired out quite,
And would fain on the world his eyes close.
Above his head
A tall oak spread
Its leafy shade;
And 'midst the trees
The sportive breeze
With young boughs played.
From ev'ry bird
A song was heard
As forth they strayed
Some grub to seize,
While busy bees
A buzzing made.
Reclining on a grassy mound,
His head a velvet cushion found,
And bushes weave a curtain round;
Here ponders he the morning's scene,
Till things that are with things that seem
Together blend and form a dream.
Again he feels red-hot with fright,
Once more his tale he must recite,
Must conjure up a thousand lies
To blind Suspicion's wakeful eyes--
Must rise with hope and sink with fear,
And all the while must feel most queer.

His tale when told--instead of going,
The Abbot looks most wondrous knowing;
And says "'Tis a falsehood,--a fable,
Which he to deny is not able,"
As with throbbings of conscience he shook;
For he could not then think of the frailest excuse,
Though he rummaged his brains--it was all of no use,
For his cunning and skill him forsook.
"You are guilty, you sinner!" the stern Abbot cried;
"Your confusion betrays you! Now don't try to hide
Your wickedness more, for I shall not believe
A word that you say, as you've tried to deceive."
Then the poor friar thought
That for pardon he sought,
But the Abbot appeared not to hear,
When he swooned right away,
And insensible lay,
Overcome with remorse or with fear.
As he came to himself, thinks he, "I'm in bed;"
But very soon after thinks he, "No, I'm dead:
Oh, I feel so uncommonly queer!
I can move neither leg nor an arm,
And my tongue's unaccountably calm,--
There is something wrong, certainly, here.
Where's the Abbot?--He's gone--'tis most like for assistance.
They will bury me, p'rhaps, and I can't make resistance:
Oh, my doom is now sealed I see clear!"

As thus he thought, for lips refused to speak,
A queer sensation trickled o'er his cheek.
In vain each nerve he strains to turn his eyes,
For they're immovable; but soon he spies
A large red worm, and in its trail there creep
A dozen more, who prowl about and peep
Into his mouth and nose, and tickle so
That what to do he's puzzled much to know.
"The bait has 'scaped from out my box," thought he;
"And, while entranced, from spite would bother me."
What would he not have given for a scratch!
A good hard rub would even nectar match.
The richest feast he felt he could forego
For the relief of one good sweeping blow.
"O that some large, emancipated bear,
Would for his lunch my corpse in pieces tear!
Than this dread tickling, I'm persuaded quite,
I'd much enjoy his hug and hearty bite."
"Hookey!" exclaimed the worm: "a bite no more
You'll get from us,--'tis useless to implore.
You're 'off the hooks,' as vulgar writers scribble,
But we'll supply you with a little nibble."
With this some dozen irritating teeth
Dashed through his skin, but gave him no relief.
His face is stiffened o'er with mud and slime,
While burning rays are scorching all the time
His dew-less eyes--and, parched with heat and thirst,
His swollen tongue appears as if 'twould burst.
Then a red worm arose,
Perched a-top of his nose,
And clearing his throat made the following speech:--
"My dearest friend Peter,
As your guests we greet yer,
And mean to stick to you as tight as a leech;
For the bright sun will fry us
All the meat you supply us.
Oh, you're now in such excellent season,
That for months we'll contrive,
If the crows don't arrive,
To repast, though our numbers increase on.
Now don't look so sulky,--recollect how you used us--
(For your airs and ill-temper will only amuse us).
Pray just think how you took,
And for fun, on a hook
Soused us head over heels in the depths of the river,
For the fishes to bite
Till we're washed away quite.
But the thought is enough to make any worm shiver.
But your sport
Is all caught,
And 'tis our turn to tease.
We can't hook
You--but, look
You, you won't get much ease,
For your ears we shall enter, and down your throat dive:
Whilst, to make the most of you, as rivals we'll strive:
But your bones will be left when we've finally done
To be washed by the rain and made white by the sun.
Oh, revenge is a sweet and a delicate sauce,
Which will sharpen our teeth should we chance feel remorse."
Then a dark'ning shade o'er the victim's head,
Like a tiny cloud or a sun-blind, spread,
While his brow was fanned by a gentle breeze,
Which seemed to descend from the waving trees.
'Twas a moment of bliss, till, lo! he saw
A pair of black wings and a darksome claw,
Which pierced through his face where 'twas peeled and raw.
"O joyful," he thought, "if this crow devours
The tormentors of these distracted hours!
Once rid of these plagues I could rot with ease;
They tickle far worse than a thousand fleas!"
But the carrion crows preferred hot meat
To such reptile food, and began to eat,
And piece after piece from his cheek they tore,--
Such torture he felt he could scarce endure;
So he said, "Good crow, if you'll raise your claw,
No fish I'll entice from the cool stream more.
The worms in their holes shall be safe, I'm sure;
While the dryest of crusts with pleasure I'll gnaw,
And won't dream of a trout though I'm hungry sore."
"We'll grant your request," said the crow; "but mind,
If ever you fishing we chance to find,
If ever maltreating the smallest worm,
Or to the least item prove aught but firm,
We'll soon all come back, and will with us bring
The adder to bite with his poisoned sting;
The earwig on those dull brains to prey
Which scattered within your pate may stray;
While your eyes I shall pick out as dainty food,
As a bit of a snack for my unfledged brood."
Yes, he now has enough of experience bought
To teach him to give o'er such cruel sport.
As thus spake the crow,
Her wings to and fro
She waved, and told the worms to go.
"He's our lawful prey,
Now he's dead," said they:
"He'll get so tough by a future day."
But without a word more
She uplifted her claw
And swept them all off from his face and breast.
While the breath from her wings
Such happiness brings
That, gaping and snoring, he sank to rest.
But 'twas short, though sweet, like a donkey's trot--
He woke, not refreshed, but dreadfully hot,
When he found why such visions his fancies fill,--
He had fallen asleep near an old ant hill.
And the ants while he slept
Had over him crept,
Into his shoes,
And down his neck;
Wherever they chose--
For little they reck
What mischief they do:
Now the master's out,
They run each room through,
And frolic about.

The moisture they sip
As they cross his lip,
And where there's a wrinkle to bathe, they dip.
Then at hide and seek
On his whisker'd cheek
They frisk about;
But soon they all flit,
They've an order to quit,
Their lease is out.
For he shook his old coat, though he greatly fears
He's only increasing the rent in arrears;
While he stamped in his rage to destroy the nest
Of the vermin who dared to disturb his rest.
Now tow'rds the cot his steps were bent,
A-musing as he onward went,
Though no bright thoughts amuse,
Until soon his mind turned to the forthcoming treat:
Though the trout are too small, little fishes are sweet,
And beggars their banquets mayn't choose.
Now he enters the door, when, instead of too late,
He discovers he has some few minutes to wait,
For the fish are not done,
As the dame had to run
To borrow a saucepan--as fluids retire
Through theirs, and will fret, and oft put out the fire.
But the pan was in use,
So the dame's tongue ran loose
While she stayed to chat there, for best part of an hour,
Of the state of affairs,
Of the price of the shares,
Or the politics secret of some foreign power.
But now quick as steam they are boiling away,
Resolved to o'ertake--if not run down--delay;
While Pat and young Matty are laying the cloth,
And Sally to slumber is getting Mike off.
"They're but small ones to-day," said the dame, "and I fear
But a very poor dinner when drest they'll appear.
I wish that our cupboard could aid your repast,
But Pat of them sausages just ate the last."
"Now the truth is," said Peter, "I numbers had caught,
But I dug in my book till so buried in thought,
That soon rod, float, and line were by me heeded nought.
Though lots came so near
My lecture to hear,
That one with my hand I nigh caught her,
Those two I'd not took
But they bit at my hook
As baitless it lay in the water."
"Oh, my ears must deceive me," said Sally, "I'm sure.
Did you say your discourse to destruction would lure
Those who listen by chance to the words that you say,
In the place of at once getting out of the way?
But wait--let me think--'twas our book you were reading.
No wonder you were not your rod and line heeding.
We missed it soon after you left, but we guessed,
That p'rhaps of the two you might like it the best."

Oh how Peter longed to give Pat a good poke!
But he knew that the dame saw no harm in a joke,
And he feared lest his fish she might burn.
So smiling he said, "I another one sought,
But here's your one back, which with me I brought,
As I wished it at once to return."
O Fiction! Miss Fiction! 'tis really too bad
Thus one monstrous lie to another to add,
As boys thread birds' eggs on a string.
But he much had to fear,
As you'll presently hear,
His punishment's now on the wing.
The trout by this were cooked,
And so temptingly looked
And smelt, they made Peter's mouth water;
While Pat's lips at the view,
And Mike's little beak, too,
Are moist--and the dame's, and both daughters'.
(For the child is not sleepy, and won't his eyes close--
There are victuals a-cooking he very well knows,
Which, if not wide awake, he does justly suppose
He shall lose, as provisions had run rather close.)
Now the monk, nigh had offered the ladies a slice,
But they looked, oh, so small! and they smelt, oh, so nice!
That he thought he could never have meant it.
For his maxim it was, ne'er an action to do
When there was the least chance in a moment or two
Of his finding good cause to repent it.
So he said, "You've all dined?" and, as matter of course,
He soon sat himself down to concoct the fish sauce,
As he fancied he did it the best.
But of what it was made I ne'er heard, so can't tell,
Though I'm certain the subject he'd studied right well,
For the good dame its merits confest.

But he long had not been
Ere he fancied he'd seen
The tail of a coat through the hedge flap.
"'Tis the Abbot," he thought,
"And I now shall be caught,
Like a frog or a toad in a rat-trap.
In this cupboard I'll go,
And mind, dame, you say 'No,'
If about me he happen to ask.
'Tis really provoking,
And far beyond joking!
To evade him 's become quite a task."

O Conscience! how truly the proverb declares,
That Sin about with him his punishment bears.
Yea his shadow will scare him, and make his heart quake,
If, instead of the right, he another path take.
He was scarcely concealed when a form the door darken'd.
Quick his eye to the keyhole was placed, while he hearken'd
Who it was to find out, when he felt a sharp bite
At his leg, which gave him such a terrible fright
That he near had rushed out, ere he found he had been
On the cat and her kittens a-tumbling in.
But a voice his attention that moment arrested--
'Tis a subject, perchance, in which he's interested.
So once more his gaze pierced the keyhole right through,
Where he had of the table an excellent view.

"How are you, my angel? Much pleasure it gives
Me to see you! For your sake alone Murphy lives.
Though your beautiful charms all his brains are fast stealing,
And his heart it would break did you hurt but a feeling.
Will you bless, then, your slave, by accepting of this
Tiny gift of affection--a sweet wholesome kiss?
For, believe me, no onion I've tasted to-day,
Though that delicate fruit's very much in my way.
What!--you'd much rather not? Sure yourself you are spiting
Quite as much as myself, whom your charms are delighting.
Only think, what a way, for your sake I have brought it,
And though numbers of females most anxiously sought it
(Some too passably fair, yet--believe me, 'tis true,--
I met never a one so bewitching as you).
Still I kept my teeth close, though 'twas really perplexing
Their sweet lips to see pouting, and gentle hearts vexing.
But come, Matty and Sal, you will kiss your new father,
For I'm sure that your ma would say Yes than No, rather.
Though some cruel event has her peace of mind crossed,
Still she's anxious to find the sweet temper she's lost.
And Pat, my fine fellow, how are you to-day?
Here's sixpence to spend in some comical way.