Catoninetales A Domestic Epic: By Hattie Brown: A young lady of colour lately deceased at the age of 14 [i.e. W. J. Linton] |
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45
HANGED
Hang me in a pudding-bag like a cat! Shakspere.
As a cat likes mustard. Proverb.
O hang the cat! said Martin:
But before it went that rough
We had suffer'd no end of trouble
And given him rope enough.
But before it went that rough
We had suffer'd no end of trouble
And given him rope enough.
We had spring chickens that summer,
A very promising brood;
And Robyn he went a-poaching
Like any Robin would.
A very promising brood;
And Robyn he went a-poaching
Like any Robin would.
Poach'd eggs we never had minded,
But chickens black and tan,
Poach'd in the cook's own manor,
And not in a frying-pan.
But chickens black and tan,
Poach'd in the cook's own manor,
And not in a frying-pan.
Three black, and two of a lovely brown,
One speckled, and one all white:
And the nasty thief, he ate them raw;
And the last was a favourite.
One speckled, and one all white:
And the nasty thief, he ate them raw;
And the last was a favourite.
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I have implored him, almost with tears,
In a most intreating tone,
Assuring him when the chicks grew up
He never should lose a bone.
In a most intreating tone,
Assuring him when the chicks grew up
He never should lose a bone.
I've even been on my knees to him,
Many a time and oft,
Proving how wise it would be to wait:
But he never was that soft.
Many a time and oft,
Proving how wise it would be to wait:
But he never was that soft.
I pray'd him for love of his mistress dear
To let those nurslings alone;
But ever he turn'd a deafer ear,—
He “liked them not full-grown.”
To let those nurslings alone;
But ever he turn'd a deafer ear,—
He “liked them not full-grown.”
Then we muster'd two or three deceased
(Mustard, they said, would check
His appetite), and we tied the least
Tight round the caitiff's neck.
(Mustard, they said, would check
His appetite), and we tied the least
Tight round the caitiff's neck.
We laugh'd at the grim grimace he made,
O we all did laugh amain
As he tasted it first, but he muster'd hope
And went for a lick again.
O we all did laugh amain
As he tasted it first, but he muster'd hope
And went for a lick again.
Why, the chick was just as yellow all o'er
As if it wore down of gold;
I felt how his poor mouth would be sore,
And I hadn't the heart to scold.
As if it wore down of gold;
I felt how his poor mouth would be sore,
And I hadn't the heart to scold.
He tugg'd at the string, it didn't break;
Then he lick'd the mustard off
And ate up his necklace all but the string
With never a sneeze or cough.
Then he lick'd the mustard off
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With never a sneeze or cough.
Nothing he cared: he the mustard lick'd
And he neither purr'd nor swore;
But, the second drumstick nicely pick'd,
Went off and drumm'd for more.
And he neither purr'd nor swore;
But, the second drumstick nicely pick'd,
Went off and drumm'd for more.
And every season following that.
With seasoning or without,
He seem'd to savour his poultry more:
Our broods so came to nought.
With seasoning or without,
He seem'd to savour his poultry more:
Our broods so came to nought.
So Cook and Martin a plot they laid
To bring Kok Rob to grief.
They borrow'd of Pa a ball of twine
To cure the chicken-thief,
To bring Kok Rob to grief.
They borrow'd of Pa a ball of twine
To cure the chicken-thief,
They gave him hinder quarters in
An elegant pudding-bag,
And tied his fore-paws up with tape,
And stopp'd his jaw with rag.
An elegant pudding-bag,
And tied his fore-paws up with tape,
And stopp'd his jaw with rag.
They drew the cord of the bag quite fair,
One end of it held by each,
Not close,—with just enough of room
For a penitent's dying speech.
One end of it held by each,
Not close,—with just enough of room
For a penitent's dying speech.
Draw tight! said Martin, and the twine
He pull'd. The Cat was dumb.
'Twas Cook that yell'd: inside the cord
The Cook had poked her thumb.
He pull'd. The Cat was dumb.
'Twas Cook that yell'd: inside the cord
The Cook had poked her thumb.
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And Robyn, he dropp'd into the bag,—
They dared not view his corse.
And if he shamm'd, or if the Cook
Was smitten with remorse,
They dared not view his corse.
And if he shamm'd, or if the Cook
Was smitten with remorse,
Or of mere tender-heartedness,
As cook'd hearts may be so,
She thus had kindly thrust her thumb,
Intent to let him go,
As cook'd hearts may be so,
She thus had kindly thrust her thumb,
Intent to let him go,
Or if a miracle (who knows?)
Had spared his sixthly breath,
Or if one of his four-left lives
Was forfeited to Death,
Had spared his sixthly breath,
Or if one of his four-left lives
Was forfeited to Death,
Shall not be known until the end,
When all nine lives are gone
And he arises to reclaim
His last vertebral bone.
When all nine lives are gone
And he arises to reclaim
His last vertebral bone.
The pudding-bag, Kok Robyn's shroud,
Was missing from that day.
Was Robyn buried in it? or did
He carry it away?
Was missing from that day.
Was Robyn buried in it? or did
He carry it away?
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