Classic Poem

Now Adam built the Fowl House strong,
And built it high and fine;
He drove in billets deep along
Where hens might undermine,
He fitted door and wicket well
With wooden locks and keys;
He told his wife to " shet her head " —
And then he sowed his peas.

Now, Adam's wife was there, of course,
And prigged and prigged about,
Until she opened all the doors
And let the fowls all out.
She said because of lice and fleas
They ought to have a run;
And so they dug up Adam's peas
And ate them — every one.

Now, Adam built his homely shed,
And furnished it with care;
He placed a table and a bed
And kitchen-dresser there;
So Eve, she let the fowls come in
To warm their blessed selves;
They laid in the potato bin
And roosted on the shelves.

Young Eggbert — youngest rooster there —
He fought old Addlebert;
They broke a lot of earthenware
And made a deal of dirt;
But Eve, she cleaned it up, and then,
While Adam shifted rocks,
She set the broody speckled hen
In Adam's figleaf box.

Young Eggbert and the pullets took
The footrail of the bed,
With Addlebert and his old chook
Just over Adam's head;
The old bird dropped his ragged tail
And tickled Adam's nose,
And, ere the stars began to pale,
He'd wake him with his crows.

And so commenced domestic strife —
Eternal nags and growls;
The gardener Adam and his wife
Fell out about the fowls.
When Adam stopped, his wife's tongue kept
Its nagging, nagging way;
Till Adam in the Fowl House slept —
He's roosting there to-day.

No Hags were there to sympathize,
So Eve grew pale and thin —
Until she called, to hear her lies,
The Baboonesses in.
The Baboons — who were only men —
They got it hot and soon;
They sympathized with Adam then —
They did, to a baboon.

And, though I know I am a brute,
I'll say it, frank and free,
It was a hen that pecked the fruit
On the Forbidden Tree,
And so the bailiff, Jerry Bimm,
(Somewhat to Eve's alarm)
Came down one morning grey and grim,
And turned them off the farm.

And so to-day, you'll find it true,
Where pampered wives are found,
They lie about their husbands to
The Baboonesses round.
They leave the broken plates and let
The fowls roost on the shelves,
Till men (they're only baboons yet)
Fall out amongst themselves.

The human Baboonesses stir
The muck of married life,
And force the poisoned cup on her —
" The poor ill-treated wife "
Until she takes the case to court,
Assisted to the tune
Of dirty Costs by any sort
Of legalized baboon.

And Eve goes in for politics
(She goes in more and more)
Until she piles and lights the sticks
And fans the flames of War.
Nor all the folk with common-sense,
Nor all the men unhung,
Nor famine stark, nor pestilence
Can stop her blessed tongue.