Classic Poem

Pressed for a Narrative, Tells the True Story of Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son .

Thomas, the vagrant piper's son,
Was fourteen when he took to fun;
He was the eighth of a bewilderin'
Family of eleven children.
Mary, the first of all the lot,
Was married to a drunken sot;
And Clement, second on the list,
Fell off the roof and was never missed.
Susan and little Goldilocks
Were carried off by the chicken-pox,
And Franky went — though I can't recall
Whatever happened to him at all.
The same with the next one, black-eyed Jim;
Nobody knew what happened to him.
And Nell went bad — she broke the laws
And shamed her folks on account of a " Cause";

And the last they saw of her, her wrists
Were tied to some other suffragists'.
Thomas was next — and he's still alive
The only one of them all to thrive.
The rest just petered out somehow —
At least, nobody hears of them now.

Now Tom, as I said when I'd begun,
Was fourteen when he took to fun.
Wine was the stuff he loved to swim in;
He lied and fought and went with women.
He scattered oaths, as one flings bounties,
The dirtiest dog in seven counties.

One morning when the sun was high
And larks were cleaving the blue sky,
Singing as though their hearts would break
With April's keen and happy ache,
Thomas went walking, rather warm,
Beside old Gaffer Hubbard's farm.
He saw that wintry days were over
And bees were out among the clover.
Earth stretched its legs out in the sun;
Now that the spring was well begun,
Heaven itself grew bland and fat.
So Thomas loafed a while and spat,
And thought about his many follies —
Yonder the gang was tipping trollies.
The sight made Tom's red blood run quicker
Than whisky, beer or any liquor.
" By cripes, " he said, " that's what I need;
'Twill make a man of me indeed.
Why should I be a drunken slob
When there's Salvation in a job! "
He started up — when lo, behind him,
As though it sought to maim and blind him,
A savage pig sprang straight against him.
At first Tom kicked and fought and fenced him,
And then he fell. But as they rolled
Tom took a tight and desperate hold
And thought the bloody fight was over.
" Here is one pig that's not in clover —
To-night I'll have you in my cupboard. "
Who should come up but Gaffer Hubbard.
" Leggo that pig. "
" What for? " says Tom.
" It's mine, you lousy, thieving bum. "
" It ain't. "
" It is. "
" Clear out! "
" We'll see. "
" I'll fix 'ee! "
" Better let me be. "
With that the farmer turned again
And called out half a dozen men.
Up they came running. " Here, " said he,
" Here is a pig belongs to me —
But ye can have it all for eating
If you will give this tramp a beating. "
" Hurroo! " they shouted in high feather,
And jumped on Thomas all together.
So the pig was eat, and Tom was beat;
And Tom went roaring down the street!