Volume Iv Part 44 (2/2)

How many apples have you had?”

She answered, ”Only seven!”

”And are you sure you took no more, My little maid?” quoth I; ”Oh, please, sir, mother gave me four, But they were in a pie!”

”If that's the case,” I stammered out, ”Of course you've had eleven.”

The maiden answered with a pout, ”I ain't had more nor seven!”

I wondered hugely what she meant, And said, ”I'm bad at riddles; But I know where little girls are sent For telling taradiddles.

”Now, if you don't reform,” said I, ”You'll never go to heaven.”

But all in vain; each time I try, That little idiot makes reply, ”I ain't had more nor seven!”

POSTSCRIPT: To borrow Wordsworth's name was wrong, Or slightly misapplied; And so I'd better call my song ”Lines after Ache-inside.”

Henry Sambrooke Leigh [1837-1883]

LUCY LAKE After Wordsworth

Poor Lucy Lake was overgrown, But somewhat underbrained.

She did not know enough, I own, To go in when it rained.

Yet Lucy was constrained to go; Green bedding,--you infer.

Few people knew she died, but oh, The difference to her!

Newton Mackintosh [1858-

JANE SMITH After Wordsworth

I journeyed, on a winter's day, Across the lonely wold; No bird did sing upon the spray, And it was very cold.

I had a coach with horses four, Three white (though one was black), And on they went the common o'er, Nor swiftness did they lack.

A little girl ran by my side, And she was pinched and thin.

”Oh, please, sir, do give me a ride!

I'm fetching mother's gin.”

”Enter my coach, sweet child,” said I, ”For you shall ride with me; And I will get you your supply Of mother's eau-de-vie.”

The publican was stern and cold, And said: ”Her mother's score Is writ, as you shall soon behold, Behind the bar-room door!”

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