 | Vulgar Verses |  |
68
Susan.
Our kitchen is a pleasant place:
My word, they'd think it a disgrace
To live here, them 'at bides upstairs
In parlours, wi' their fine folks' airs
An' music, an' the likes o' that;
But as for me, I'll tell thee what,
My lass, I'd liefer sit or stand
Down here, wi' meat an' drink at hand
An' this good fire to cook it by
An' me to do the cooking: aye,
An' cleaning too! I always says,
An' shall do, all my working days,
There's nothing nicer, if you're strong
An' used to scrubbing all day long,
Nor a good bout o' scouring floors,
Or cleaning places out o' doors.
That's what I calls enjoyment, now!
It makes you rare and black, I know,
An' makes you sweat; but sweat's a thing
Is reckon'd good for physicking;
An' as for dirt, the work you do
Of coorse it all comes off on you;
But what o' that? They canna tell
It's you, until you've wash'd yoursel.
Aye, marry; I remember well
When first I lived in yon queer spot—
What did they call it? I've forgot,
But all was gentlemen, ye see,
An' ne'er a woman, only me
An' Mrs. Codd the porter's wife;
My, I was teased out o' my life,
At first, for want o' knowing that.
I used to clean me, like a flat,
An' make mysel as neat an' nice
To see to, as a pound o' spice;
Clean cap an' apron every day
To wait on 'em, an' take away,
An' such-like jobs: an' all the while,
I never offer'd once to smile,
But look'd as grave as anything;
An' yet, I do believe they'd ring
An' have me up, would them young swells
(For I'd to answer all their bells)
O' purpose, just to look at me!
I was but seventeen, ye see,
Though tall and big—aye, just as tall
As I are now; an' wi' my shawl
An' bonnet, of a Sunday out,
I look'd a goodish size, no doubt.
My word, they'd think it a disgrace
To live here, them 'at bides upstairs
In parlours, wi' their fine folks' airs
An' music, an' the likes o' that;
But as for me, I'll tell thee what,
My lass, I'd liefer sit or stand
Down here, wi' meat an' drink at hand
An' this good fire to cook it by
An' me to do the cooking: aye,
An' cleaning too! I always says,
An' shall do, all my working days,
There's nothing nicer, if you're strong
An' used to scrubbing all day long,
Nor a good bout o' scouring floors,
Or cleaning places out o' doors.
That's what I calls enjoyment, now!
It makes you rare and black, I know,
An' makes you sweat; but sweat's a thing
Is reckon'd good for physicking;
An' as for dirt, the work you do
Of coorse it all comes off on you;
But what o' that? They canna tell
69
Aye, marry; I remember well
When first I lived in yon queer spot—
What did they call it? I've forgot,
But all was gentlemen, ye see,
An' ne'er a woman, only me
An' Mrs. Codd the porter's wife;
My, I was teased out o' my life,
At first, for want o' knowing that.
I used to clean me, like a flat,
An' make mysel as neat an' nice
To see to, as a pound o' spice;
Clean cap an' apron every day
To wait on 'em, an' take away,
An' such-like jobs: an' all the while,
I never offer'd once to smile,
But look'd as grave as anything;
An' yet, I do believe they'd ring
An' have me up, would them young swells
(For I'd to answer all their bells)
O' purpose, just to look at me!
I was but seventeen, ye see,
Though tall and big—aye, just as tall
As I are now; an' wi' my shawl
An' bonnet, of a Sunday out,
I look'd a goodish size, no doubt.
Well, when I went up to the door,
Bless you, I never thought no more
About myself an' how I look'd,
Nor these here taters, when they're cook'd,
Thinks o' their jackets or their dish:
It's true, I had a kind o' wish
As such fine gentlemen as yon
May like me, same as Mr. John
Or Mr. James here seems to do,
Saying, “Well, Susan, how are you?”
If chance I meet 'em on the stairs,
Or sees 'em going up to prayers;
But yon was different. Eh, my word,
They did it of their own accord,
For with my tongue nor with my eyes
I never took no liberties—
But it was wonderful, to see
The way they used to stare at me!
Says one, “You've got a pretty face,
You're far too good for this poor place.”
“Aye,” says another, “that she is!
An' Susan, I mun have a kiss,”
Says he—an' would ha' snatch'd it, too,
Like some gells would ha' let him do;
But I says, “No, sir, if ye please!
If I are bringing up your teas,
An' servant here, that's not to say
As you're to mock me, any way.”
“Mock you?” says he; but when he seed
'At I were one o' such a breed
As neither him nor nobody
May venter for to mell wi' me
Again my will, why then he dropp'd it:
An' if he hadn't, I'd ha' stopp'd it
Uncommon quick; I arena fear'd
O' naught belonging to a beard;
For why, you needna whimp nor whine,
If once you've got a arm like mine.
Bless you, I never thought no more
About myself an' how I look'd,
Nor these here taters, when they're cook'd,
70
It's true, I had a kind o' wish
As such fine gentlemen as yon
May like me, same as Mr. John
Or Mr. James here seems to do,
Saying, “Well, Susan, how are you?”
If chance I meet 'em on the stairs,
Or sees 'em going up to prayers;
But yon was different. Eh, my word,
They did it of their own accord,
For with my tongue nor with my eyes
I never took no liberties—
But it was wonderful, to see
The way they used to stare at me!
Says one, “You've got a pretty face,
You're far too good for this poor place.”
“Aye,” says another, “that she is!
An' Susan, I mun have a kiss,”
Says he—an' would ha' snatch'd it, too,
Like some gells would ha' let him do;
But I says, “No, sir, if ye please!
If I are bringing up your teas,
An' servant here, that's not to say
As you're to mock me, any way.”
“Mock you?” says he; but when he seed
'At I were one o' such a breed
As neither him nor nobody
May venter for to mell wi' me
Again my will, why then he dropp'd it:
An' if he hadn't, I'd ha' stopp'd it
71
O' naught belonging to a beard;
For why, you needna whimp nor whine,
If once you've got a arm like mine.
But, when I told it Mrs. Codd,
As was my missis, “Well, it's odd,”
Her says, “They should keep on at thee
Wi' all their kissing foolery,
When they've got ladies for to buss!
I lay they only make a fuss
About thee, 'cause thy cheeks is fresh—
Thou's got a colour on thy flesh,
An' always looks so spick an' span:
But, lass, there's ne'er a gentleman
But what 'ud think it a disgrace
To look at thee or touch thy face,
If he med see thee in thy dirt.”
Her says, “It's like a clean white shirt—
Just let it get a speck o' grime,
It winna do another time;
But we mun wash an' starch it clear,
Afore they'll think it fit to weer.”
As was my missis, “Well, it's odd,”
Her says, “They should keep on at thee
Wi' all their kissing foolery,
When they've got ladies for to buss!
I lay they only make a fuss
About thee, 'cause thy cheeks is fresh—
Thou's got a colour on thy flesh,
An' always looks so spick an' span:
But, lass, there's ne'er a gentleman
But what 'ud think it a disgrace
To look at thee or touch thy face,
If he med see thee in thy dirt.”
Her says, “It's like a clean white shirt—
Just let it get a speck o' grime,
It winna do another time;
But we mun wash an' starch it clear,
Afore they'll think it fit to weer.”
Well, so I thought o' what her'd said:
Thinks I, I are a servant-maid,
An' as for them to sweetheart me,
You can't expect it, certainly.
No, nor I shouldna wish 'em to;
They arena fit for me an' you,
Such folks as them; you canna feel
As they'd be true, there's such a deal
O' fauseness in 'em, wi' their breeding,
An' uppish ways, an' dainty feeding:
I'd liefer trust our Tom or Jack,
What takes me as I are, an' black
If black I be. Well, what d'ye think?
Next morning early, me an' Spink,
Our sweep, was taking up the soot—
For I'd swep down the chimley foot,
An' him the flue; an' when we'd done,
He says (he's such a joking one,
Is Spink), “My lass,” he says, “I see
Thou's made thysel as black as me!”
I laugh'd a bit; for sure enough
My face an' arms was black an' rough
Wi' soot, an' coller off the grate;
But for all that, I didna wait—
I took an' laid the kitchen fire,
An' lighted it, an' blow'd it higher;
An' then, as hearty as you please,
I clean'd the hearth upon my knees,
An' fell to singging at the job.
It's better for to sing, nor sob;
But all at once, to stop my singging,
I heerd the front-door bell a-ringing.
Thinks I, I are a servant-maid,
An' as for them to sweetheart me,
You can't expect it, certainly.
No, nor I shouldna wish 'em to;
They arena fit for me an' you,
Such folks as them; you canna feel
72
O' fauseness in 'em, wi' their breeding,
An' uppish ways, an' dainty feeding:
I'd liefer trust our Tom or Jack,
What takes me as I are, an' black
If black I be. Well, what d'ye think?
Next morning early, me an' Spink,
Our sweep, was taking up the soot—
For I'd swep down the chimley foot,
An' him the flue; an' when we'd done,
He says (he's such a joking one,
Is Spink), “My lass,” he says, “I see
Thou's made thysel as black as me!”
I laugh'd a bit; for sure enough
My face an' arms was black an' rough
Wi' soot, an' coller off the grate;
But for all that, I didna wait—
I took an' laid the kitchen fire,
An' lighted it, an' blow'd it higher;
An' then, as hearty as you please,
I clean'd the hearth upon my knees,
An' fell to singging at the job.
It's better for to sing, nor sob;
But all at once, to stop my singging,
I heerd the front-door bell a-ringing.
I'd got my old hood-bonnet on,
An' coorse striped apron (that's the one
You've seed me weering many a time,
An' thick it gets wi' slush an' grime
A-scouring) an' my cotton frock
Loop'd up above my lindsey smock,
An' good strong boots: Oh dear, oh dear,
Thinks I, I do look precious queer
To see a front-door visitor!
An' when I open'd it, Oh Lor!
Theer stood that very gentleman
As seed me looking spick an' span
The night afore, an' actually
Had tried to snatch a kiss o' me.
But when I held the door for him,
An' look'd so dirty an' so grim,
He stared, but never said a word,
No more nor if he'd been a lord;
He walk'd right in; an' I could tell
My sooty face had served me well.
An' coorse striped apron (that's the one
You've seed me weering many a time,
An' thick it gets wi' slush an' grime
A-scouring) an' my cotton frock
73
An' good strong boots: Oh dear, oh dear,
Thinks I, I do look precious queer
To see a front-door visitor!
An' when I open'd it, Oh Lor!
Theer stood that very gentleman
As seed me looking spick an' span
The night afore, an' actually
Had tried to snatch a kiss o' me.
But when I held the door for him,
An' look'd so dirty an' so grim,
He stared, but never said a word,
No more nor if he'd been a lord;
He walk'd right in; an' I could tell
My sooty face had served me well.
So then, what missis says is true
Thinks I; an' I know what I'll do;
I'll be as grimy as I can
When I've to meet a gentleman!
That's how I did it: not all day,
Of coorse, for I'd to take away,
An' bring their breakfasts an' their teas;
But often I was on my knees,
A-blacking grates, or scrubbing floors,
Or cleaning paint on walls an' doors,
When they come by; an' always then
I used to face the gentlemen
Looking as clarty as I could.
Oh Betsy, it 'ud do you good
To see how I disgusted 'em!
I lay they wouldna touch'd the hem
O' my poor clothes—as was so free,
An' used to make so much o' me!
Aye, even when I'd got to coom
A-waiting on 'em in the room,
They seldom noticed me again;
For why, I always look'd that plain—
Not over neat nor over smart,
Nor nothing as could give 'em heart;
But often wi' a reddish face
An' soapy-scrubb'd. I kept my place,
An' so at last I learnt 'em theirn.
Thinks I; an' I know what I'll do;
I'll be as grimy as I can
When I've to meet a gentleman!
That's how I did it: not all day,
Of coorse, for I'd to take away,
An' bring their breakfasts an' their teas;
But often I was on my knees,
A-blacking grates, or scrubbing floors,
Or cleaning paint on walls an' doors,
When they come by; an' always then
I used to face the gentlemen
Looking as clarty as I could.
Oh Betsy, it 'ud do you good
To see how I disgusted 'em!
74
O' my poor clothes—as was so free,
An' used to make so much o' me!
Aye, even when I'd got to coom
A-waiting on 'em in the room,
They seldom noticed me again;
For why, I always look'd that plain—
Not over neat nor over smart,
Nor nothing as could give 'em heart;
But often wi' a reddish face
An' soapy-scrubb'd. I kept my place,
An' so at last I learnt 'em theirn.
You've maybe seen a smutty bairn,
As folks'll kiss it when it's clean,
But not o' weekdays; well, I mean
As I was pretty much like that:
I always know'd what I was at,
An' Sundays, I'd no eall to fear;
For why, no gentlemen was theer;
So, of a Sunday, I could rest
An' walk to church in all my best—
As good a bonnet, shawl, an' gown
As any servant in the town.
Well, theer I lived, a pretty while;
As folks'll kiss it when it's clean,
But not o' weekdays; well, I mean
As I was pretty much like that:
I always know'd what I was at,
An' Sundays, I'd no eall to fear;
For why, no gentlemen was theer;
So, of a Sunday, I could rest
An' walk to church in all my best—
As good a bonnet, shawl, an' gown
As any servant in the town.
An' they did nothing, only smile
An' nod at me, a time or two,
Like master do to me an' you,
If chance I met 'em in the street.
But mostly I was at their feet,
75
An' when they seed me work that hard,
A-scrubbing in the dirt an' sludge
An' looking such a reg'lar drudge,
They'd say, “Well, Susan, here you are—
As black as ever, I declare!”
An' sometimes, when I had to crawl
Across the doorway in the hall,
They'd come behind, a-going out,
An' ax me what I was about;
So then, I rests upon my hands
An' looks up at him wheer he stands,
An' says, “The emest way 'ud be
To please, sir, just step over me;”
An' so he always did, ye see.
But once, when none on 'em was in
(By what I thought), for all their din
O' music an' o' pleasuring
Was quiet, I went up to bring
The parlour scuttle full o' coals;
An' bless us! theer was Mr. Knowles,
A-sitting in his easy-chair!
I jump'd, an' he begun to stare
At me, an' wonder what I mean'd;
For I was wash'd an' welly clean'd,
By reason it was evening-time;
An' all the sweat an' dust an' grime
Was off my face; my sleeves was down,
An' I'd got on a tidy gown,
Clean apron, an' a clean white cap:
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An' I was smarten'd up for him.
But Mr. Knowles look'd just as grim,
An' says, “Hollo, girl! Is it you?”
An' axes what I want to do;
An' then he ups, an' says again,
“Why, Susan, now I see you plain—
My lass, wherever have you been?
Your pretty face is sweet an' clean,
An' you're as nice as nice can be;
By Jove!” he says, “I'd no idee
As you could ever look so well!
My dear, you're quite a kitchen belle,”
Says he. Of coorse I couldna tell,
Nor didna care not one brass farden,
What that meant; but I ax'd his parden
For coming in like unbeknown,
An' catching of him all alone,
An' never knock'd; an' “Sir,” says I,
(You see, I spoke respectfully,
An' yet I scarce could stand his cheek,
But seem'd like bounden for to speak),
“Sir, if the kitchen bell did ring,
As you say, it's a curous thing
I never heerd it!” Well—wi' that,
He laugh'd right out! I tell thee what,
Betsy, I felt as mad as mad,
To think o' what a tongue he had
For fooling of such folks as us!
But still, I never made no fuss,
77
For all he call'd to me to stay.
Then, next job was, the master come—
My missis' master: for his home
Was somewheers else; but now an' then
He'd come to see the gentlemen
An' spy how things was getting on.
My word, he was a cunning mon!
But I should say (although it's true
I dunno much—no more do you),
Still, I should reckon by his talk,
An' by his boots an' by his walk,
He wasna born a gentleman.
Aye, I can tell 'em, that I can,
Wi' waiting on 'em toe to heel
An' living with 'em such a deal!
He come o' Saturday, worse luck,
When I was in the thick o' muck,
Black as a tinker; cleaning boots
An' grates, an' helping at the shoots
Among the coalmen, getting coals
Into the cellar. All the holes
Was smother'd up an' black wi' dust;
An' I was in it, an' the wust,
'Cause I had got the roughest trade:
I was below, an' wi' my spade
I took an' levell'd all the crown,
Fast as them coals come lumbering down.
I sweated in that blessed place
A good half-hour; an' eh, my face
How black it was! an' in my eyes,
An' up my nose, the coal-dust flies
As I could hardly breathe for it.
I'd got just tired above a bit,
An' glad enough to hear 'em shout
Down the big shoot, at me, “All's out!”—
Thinks I, I'll go an' wash mysel,
At least my face, for fear the bell
Should ring for me to go upstairs.
But, all at once, there comes an' stares
A big man like a officer;
“Hollo!” says he, an' I says “Sir?”
An' wonder'd at him, what he meant.
Right to the kitchen then he went,
An' Mrs. Codd come out to him
A-trembling-like in every limb.
Thinks I, I lay it's missis' master!
An' I must say, my heart beat faster
To think o' what a fright I look'd.
Our dinner wasna' hardly cook'd,
An' all the place was in a mess;
But he walk'd in, an' says, “Oh yes,
Yes, Mrs. Codd, I'm come to see
If you've got any news for me.
But what's yon dirty creature theer,”
Says he (for I was standing near),
“As looks like any chimney-sweep?”
“Lor, sir, it's just the maid we keep,”
Says missis, “for to clean an' scrub,
An' help me at the washing-tub,
An' wait upstairs; an' now, poor soul!
Her's getting in a load o' coal,
Or was, a bit sin'.” “Aye,” he says,
“You want a maid, a many ways;
But this one seems a queerish figure;
A thorough picter of a nigger!
Just tell her for to come inside,
As I may see her.” Well, I tried
To keep mysel behind the door,
So as he shouldna see no more
Nor I could help, o' what I was;
But it was all no good. “My lass,”
Says he; “nay, dunna hide thysel;
I want to see what sort o' gell
Is servant in this house o' mine.”
Then Mrs. Codd give me a sign
Behind his back; so I come out
An' show'd mysel—not quite so stout
As I are now, but just as big;
An' staring like a new-stuck pig,
To think as he should see me so.
For I was very black, you know,
An' must ha' look'd uncommon silly,
Standing afore him, willy nilly,
An' fair ashamed. But after all,
I had no need to feel so small:
For honest work is no disgrace,
If it do black your arms an' face.
My missis' master: for his home
Was somewheers else; but now an' then
He'd come to see the gentlemen
An' spy how things was getting on.
My word, he was a cunning mon!
But I should say (although it's true
I dunno much—no more do you),
Still, I should reckon by his talk,
An' by his boots an' by his walk,
He wasna born a gentleman.
Aye, I can tell 'em, that I can,
Wi' waiting on 'em toe to heel
An' living with 'em such a deal!
He come o' Saturday, worse luck,
When I was in the thick o' muck,
Black as a tinker; cleaning boots
An' grates, an' helping at the shoots
Among the coalmen, getting coals
Into the cellar. All the holes
Was smother'd up an' black wi' dust;
An' I was in it, an' the wust,
'Cause I had got the roughest trade:
I was below, an' wi' my spade
I took an' levell'd all the crown,
Fast as them coals come lumbering down.
I sweated in that blessed place
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How black it was! an' in my eyes,
An' up my nose, the coal-dust flies
As I could hardly breathe for it.
I'd got just tired above a bit,
An' glad enough to hear 'em shout
Down the big shoot, at me, “All's out!”—
Thinks I, I'll go an' wash mysel,
At least my face, for fear the bell
Should ring for me to go upstairs.
But, all at once, there comes an' stares
A big man like a officer;
“Hollo!” says he, an' I says “Sir?”
An' wonder'd at him, what he meant.
Right to the kitchen then he went,
An' Mrs. Codd come out to him
A-trembling-like in every limb.
Thinks I, I lay it's missis' master!
An' I must say, my heart beat faster
To think o' what a fright I look'd.
Our dinner wasna' hardly cook'd,
An' all the place was in a mess;
But he walk'd in, an' says, “Oh yes,
Yes, Mrs. Codd, I'm come to see
If you've got any news for me.
But what's yon dirty creature theer,”
Says he (for I was standing near),
“As looks like any chimney-sweep?”
“Lor, sir, it's just the maid we keep,”
Says missis, “for to clean an' scrub,
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An' wait upstairs; an' now, poor soul!
Her's getting in a load o' coal,
Or was, a bit sin'.” “Aye,” he says,
“You want a maid, a many ways;
But this one seems a queerish figure;
A thorough picter of a nigger!
Just tell her for to come inside,
As I may see her.” Well, I tried
To keep mysel behind the door,
So as he shouldna see no more
Nor I could help, o' what I was;
But it was all no good. “My lass,”
Says he; “nay, dunna hide thysel;
I want to see what sort o' gell
Is servant in this house o' mine.”
Then Mrs. Codd give me a sign
Behind his back; so I come out
An' show'd mysel—not quite so stout
As I are now, but just as big;
An' staring like a new-stuck pig,
To think as he should see me so.
For I was very black, you know,
An' must ha' look'd uncommon silly,
Standing afore him, willy nilly,
An' fair ashamed. But after all,
I had no need to feel so small:
For honest work is no disgrace,
If it do black your arms an' face.
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Well, theer I stood, a-curtseying,
Like any cat afore a king!
The master look'd at me, he did,
He look'd me up an' down, an' hid
The spot o' sunlight with his hand,
An' put his glasses on. “Just stand
More in the light a bit,” he says;
An' so I did. In all my days
I never seed a man like him;
So cunning-looking, an' so grim—
He look'd as if he'd eat you up!
Says he, “Well, here's a pretty pup
For my clean kennel! Housekeeper,
Wherever did you light on her?”
Like any cat afore a king!
The master look'd at me, he did,
He look'd me up an' down, an' hid
The spot o' sunlight with his hand,
An' put his glasses on. “Just stand
More in the light a bit,” he says;
An' so I did. In all my days
I never seed a man like him;
So cunning-looking, an' so grim—
He look'd as if he'd eat you up!
Says he, “Well, here's a pretty pup
For my clean kennel! Housekeeper,
Wherever did you light on her?”
Then Mrs. Codd turn'd gashly pale,
A-telling him a longish tale
Of how the other wench had gone,
An' her to do the work alone,
An' went at last to Texley Fair
An' hired me. I didna care,
So long as I'd not got to speak;
But missis was that nesh an' weak,
An' seem'd so despertly afeard
O' master an' his big black beard,
It made me feel quite sperrited:
An' at the end, he out an' said,
Says he, “The wench is tall an' strong;
But, Mrs. Codd, you did quite wrong
To hire a dirty slut like this is,
An' not tell me, nor yet my missis.”
“Lor, sir,” says she, “you're quite mistook!
As black as ever her may look
Now wi' them coals, her's not a slut;
Just let me send her off, to put
A decent cap an' apron on,
An' wash her, an' you'll say she's one
As has a honest country face,
An' good enough for any place!”
Wi' that her tipp'd me just a wink;
An' off I started to the sink,
All in a hurry an' a worry,
An' set to work in such a flurry
To wash me at the scullery tap;
An' donn'd a tidy muslin cap
An' clean white apron, an' got back
In less than no time. Eh, my Jack
How he'd a jump'd to see the change,
An' kiss'd me for it, too! It's strange,
But this here master didn't, though.
He look'd as he could hardly know
I was the wench he seed afore;
The more he look'd at me, the more
He seem'd to like me not so well,
Now I was got respectable.
“Ho, ho!” says he, “I see your game!
An' Mrs. Codd, you're much to blame:
The girl is not a slut—Why, no,
Only you please to make her so.
You've spoilt a pretty face, I see,
O' purpose for to take in me.
Aye, but you canna do it, then!
There's not one servant-maid in ten
'Ud look as taking an' as nice
As this, nor fetch as good a price
Among them gentlemen o' mine,
If once her was but drest up fine.
Why, now her face is wash'd an' clean,
A better never could be seen
In all the parish, I'll be bound.
An' so, you think to bring me round
To let her stop here, do you, eh?
Thou artful hussey, thou!” says he,
“I'll learn thee how to keep thy place
By blacking o' thy minx's face,
An' coming out a make-believe
Afore thy master to deceive!
I'll learn thee how to smirk an' smile
Wi' lips an' eyes as full o' guile
As eggs is full o' meat!” My word!
I wouldn't o' my own accord
Ha' said a word to him, not I;
But when he spoke a-thatns, why
I couldna help but answer him,
For all he look'd so fierce and grim.
“What, sir!” says I, “d'ye think I care
For gentlemen? D'ye think I are
What you make out? Why no, indeed!
I lay my life you never seed
A harder-working wench nor me,
An' one as always wants to be
Just what her is.” “Hold thy daft tongue,”
Says he; “thou is a deal too young
To start off answering again!
But Mrs. Codd, I tell you plain,
This very day you'll give her warning,
An' pay her off to-morrow morning.”
Well, Betsy, what d'ye think o' that?
A-telling him a longish tale
Of how the other wench had gone,
An' her to do the work alone,
An' went at last to Texley Fair
An' hired me. I didna care,
So long as I'd not got to speak;
But missis was that nesh an' weak,
An' seem'd so despertly afeard
O' master an' his big black beard,
It made me feel quite sperrited:
An' at the end, he out an' said,
Says he, “The wench is tall an' strong;
But, Mrs. Codd, you did quite wrong
To hire a dirty slut like this is,
An' not tell me, nor yet my missis.”
81
As black as ever her may look
Now wi' them coals, her's not a slut;
Just let me send her off, to put
A decent cap an' apron on,
An' wash her, an' you'll say she's one
As has a honest country face,
An' good enough for any place!”
Wi' that her tipp'd me just a wink;
An' off I started to the sink,
All in a hurry an' a worry,
An' set to work in such a flurry
To wash me at the scullery tap;
An' donn'd a tidy muslin cap
An' clean white apron, an' got back
In less than no time. Eh, my Jack
How he'd a jump'd to see the change,
An' kiss'd me for it, too! It's strange,
But this here master didn't, though.
He look'd as he could hardly know
I was the wench he seed afore;
The more he look'd at me, the more
He seem'd to like me not so well,
Now I was got respectable.
“Ho, ho!” says he, “I see your game!
An' Mrs. Codd, you're much to blame:
The girl is not a slut—Why, no,
Only you please to make her so.
You've spoilt a pretty face, I see,
O' purpose for to take in me.
82
There's not one servant-maid in ten
'Ud look as taking an' as nice
As this, nor fetch as good a price
Among them gentlemen o' mine,
If once her was but drest up fine.
Why, now her face is wash'd an' clean,
A better never could be seen
In all the parish, I'll be bound.
An' so, you think to bring me round
To let her stop here, do you, eh?
Thou artful hussey, thou!” says he,
“I'll learn thee how to keep thy place
By blacking o' thy minx's face,
An' coming out a make-believe
Afore thy master to deceive!
I'll learn thee how to smirk an' smile
Wi' lips an' eyes as full o' guile
As eggs is full o' meat!” My word!
I wouldn't o' my own accord
Ha' said a word to him, not I;
But when he spoke a-thatns, why
I couldna help but answer him,
For all he look'd so fierce and grim.
“What, sir!” says I, “d'ye think I care
For gentlemen? D'ye think I are
What you make out? Why no, indeed!
I lay my life you never seed
A harder-working wench nor me,
An' one as always wants to be
83
Says he; “thou is a deal too young
To start off answering again!
But Mrs. Codd, I tell you plain,
This very day you'll give her warning,
An' pay her off to-morrow morning.”
A pretty story to be at—
Me to be took an' scolded so
For things as I no more could know
Or think on, nor the babe unborn!
Good Lord! a wench like me 'ud scorn
To be beholden for I love ye
To them as is too far above ye
To court you in the reg'lar way:
Besides, I'd got my Jack. I lay
If he'd ha' heerd the master's tune
He'd ha' been at him pretty soon
Wi' worser words nor mine was—theer!
But, lass, I did feel precious queer,
Forced to give up a honest place
Only for blacking o' my face
To save mysel' a worse disgrace
Nor any soot or grime could be.
Still, it was lucky; for ye see
It wasna long afore I come
To have this kitchen for my home,
An' you my fellow-servant, Bess.
Theer's better homes nor this—oh yes;
84
An' what for work, an' what for food,
An' two good masters, an' no missis,
I reckon it's a rare un, this is.
Aye, an' I'll keep it till I wed:
For Mr. John, you know, he said
(When I was telling him o' Jack,
An' how I reckon'd he'd be back
An' over here by Wissuntide,
An' may I ax him, sir), he sigh'd,
Did Mr. John, I dunno why,
An' says, “Why, Susan, certainly!
An' when thou's fix'd thy wedding day,”
Says he, “I'll give the bride away,
An' her shall have a wedding gown
An' wedding dinner, all her own,
In this here house,” says Mr. John.
That's what I call a proper mon,
Free-handed like, an' fit to be
A master over you an' me!
But Betsy, what was that theer knock?
Just go, lass, an' undo the lock—
It's maybe Jack! An' here I are,
Rough apron, an' my arms all bare,
An' ne'er a glass to see me in,
Short of our attic! What a din
His knuckles makes! Run quick, an' do it—
Tell him as I are chopping suet,
An' he'll believe you. Then you'll see
If Jack have got a kiss for me.
| Vulgar Verses | |