 | [Poems by Smith in] The Wide-Awake Gift |  |
279
REVOLUTIONARY TEA.
There was an old lady lived over the sea,
And she was an Island Queen;
Her daughter lived off in a new countrie,
With an ocean of water between.
And she was an Island Queen;
Her daughter lived off in a new countrie,
With an ocean of water between.
The old lady's pockets were full of gold,
But never contented was she;
So she called to her daughter to pay her a tax
Of “thrippence” a pound on her tea.
But never contented was she;
So she called to her daughter to pay her a tax
Of “thrippence” a pound on her tea.
“Now, mother, dear mother,” the daughter replied,
“I shan't do the thing that you ax;
I'm willing to pay a fair price for the tea,
But never the thrippenny tax.
“I shan't do the thing that you ax;
I'm willing to pay a fair price for the tea,
But never the thrippenny tax.
“You shall,” quoth the mother, and reddened with rage,
“For you're my own daughter, ye see;
And sure 'tis quite proper the daughter should pay
Her mother a tax on her tea.”
“For you're my own daughter, ye see;
And sure 'tis quite proper the daughter should pay
Her mother a tax on her tea.”
And so the old lady her servants called up,
And pack'd off a budget of tea,
And, eager for thrippence a pound, she put in
Enough for a large familie.
And pack'd off a budget of tea,
And, eager for thrippence a pound, she put in
Enough for a large familie.
280
She ordered her servants to bring home the tax,
Declaring her child should obey,
Or, old as she was, and almost woman-grown,
She'd half whip her life away.
Declaring her child should obey,
Or, old as she was, and almost woman-grown,
She'd half whip her life away.
The tea was conveyed to the daughter's door,
All down by the ocean side,
And the bouncing girl poured out every pound
In the dark and boiling tide.
All down by the ocean side,
And the bouncing girl poured out every pound
In the dark and boiling tide.
And then she called out to the Island Queen,
“Oh, mother, dear mother,” quoth she,
“Your tea you may have, when 'tis steeped enough,
But never a tax from me—
No, never a tax from me.”
“Oh, mother, dear mother,” quoth she,
“Your tea you may have, when 'tis steeped enough,
But never a tax from me—
No, never a tax from me.”
| [Poems by Smith in] The Wide-Awake Gift | |