The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 22

LXX

_FALSE FRIENDS-LIKE_

When I was still a boy and mother's pride, A bigger boy spoke up to me so kind-like, 'If you do like, I'll treat you with a ride In this wheel-barrow.' So then I was blind-like To what he had a-working in his mind-like, And mounted for a pa.s.senger inside; And coming to a puddle, pretty wide, He tipp'd me in a-grinning back behind-like.

So when a man may come to me so thick-like, And shake my hand where once he pa.s.s'd me by, And tell me he would do me this or that, I can't help thinking of the big boy's trick-like, And then, for all I can but wag my hat, And thank him, I do feel a little shy.

_W. Barnes_

LXXI

_GOODY BLAKE AND HARRY GILL_

_A true story_

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?

What is't that ails young Harry Gill, That evermore his teeth they chatter, Chatter, chatter, chatter still?

Of waistcoats Harry has no lack, Good duffil grey, and flannel fine; He has a blanket on his back, And coats enough to smother nine.

In March, December, and in July, 'Tis all the same with Harry Gill; The neighbours tell, and tell you truly, His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

At night, at morning, and at noon, 'Tis all the same with Harry Gill; Beneath the sun, beneath the moon, His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Young Harry was a l.u.s.ty drover, And who so stout of limb as he?

His cheeks were red as ruddy clover; His voice was like the voice of three.

Old Goody Blake was old and poor; Ill fed she was and thinly clad; And any man who pa.s.sed her door Might see how poor a hut she had.

All day she spun in her poor dwelling: And then her three hours' work at night, Alas! 'twas hardly worth the telling, It would not pay for candle-light.

Remote from sheltered village green, On a hill's northern side she dwelt, Where from sea-blasts the hawthorns lean, And h.o.a.ry dews are slow to melt.

By the same fire to boil their pottage, Two poor old Dames, as I have known, Will often live in one small cottage; But she, poor woman! housed alone.

'Twas well enough when summer came, The long, warm, lightsome summer day, Then at her door the canty dame Would sit, as any linnet gay.

But when the ice our streams did fetter, Oh, then how her old bones would shake!

You would have said, if you had met her, 'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake.

Her evenings then were dull and dead: Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed, And then for cold not sleep a wink.

O joy for her! whene'er in winter The winds at night had made a rout; And scattered many a l.u.s.ty splinter, And many a rotten bough about.

Yet never had she, well or sick, As every man who knew her says, A pile beforehand, turf or stick, Enough to warm her for three days.

Now, when the frost was past enduring, And made her poor old bones to ache, Could any thing be more alluring Than an old hedge to Goody Blake?

And now and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed, To seek the hedge of Harry Gill.

Now Harry he had long suspected This trespa.s.s of old Goody Blake; And vowed that she should be detected-- That he on her would vengeance take; And oft from his warm fire he'd go, And to the fields his road would take; And there, at night, in frost and snow, He watched to seize old Goody Blake.

And once behind a rick of barley, Thus looking out did Harry stand: The moon was full and shining clearly, And crisp with frost the stubble land.

--He hears a noise--he's all awake-- Again?--on tip-toe down the hill He softly creeps--'tis Goody Blake; She's at the hedge of Harry Gill!

Right glad was he when he beheld her; Stick after stick did Goody pull: He stood behind a bush of elder, Till she had fill'd her ap.r.o.n full.

When with her load she turned about, The by-way back again to take; He started forward with a shout, And sprang upon poor Goody Blake.

And fiercely by the arm he took her, And by the arm he held her fast, And fiercely by the arm he shook her, And cried, 'I've caught you then at last!'

Then Goody who had nothing said, Her bundle from her lap let fall, And kneeling on the sticks she prayed To G.o.d that is the judge of all.

She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, While Harry held her by the arm-- 'G.o.d, who art never out of hearing, O may he never more be warm!'

The cold, cold moon above her head, Thus on her knees did Goody pray; Young Harry heard what she had said, And icy cold he turned away.

He went complaining all the morrow That he was cold and very chill: His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, Alas! that day for Harry Gill!

That day he wore a riding coat, But not a whit the warmer he: Another was on Thursday bought; And ere the Sabbath he had three.

'Twas all in vain, a useless matter, And blankets were about him pinned, Yet still his jaws and teeth they chatter, Like a loose cas.e.m.e.nt in the wind.

And Harry's flesh it fell away; And all who see him say 'tis plain, That live as long as live he may, He never will be warm again.

No word to any man he utters, A-bed or up, to young or old; But ever to himself he mutters, 'Poor Harry Gill is very cold!'

A-bed or up, by night or day, His teeth they chatter, chatter still.

Now think, ye farmers all, I pray, Of Goody Blake and Harry Gill!

_W. Wordsworth_

LXXII

_THE JOVIAL BEGGAR_

There was a jovial beggar, He had a wooden leg, Lame from his cradle, And forced for to beg.

And a-begging we will go, Will go, will go, And a-begging we will go.

A bag for his oatmeal, Another for his salt, And a long pair of crutches, To show that he can halt.

And a-begging we will go, Will go, will go, And a-begging we will go.

A bag for his wheat, Another for his rye, And a little bottle by his side, To drink when he's a-dry.

And a-begging we will go, Will go, will go, And a-begging we will go.

Seven years I begg'd For my old master Wilde, He taught me how to beg When I was but a child.

And a-begging we will go, Will go, will go, And a-begging we will go.

I begg'd for my master, And got him store of pelf, But goodness now be praised, I'm begging for myself.

And a-begging we will go, Will go, will go, And a-begging we will go.