ENOCH'S "HARD 'UN."
PART I.
In a fair village on the English coast
There dwelt a lad—they called him Hunky Sam.
He was but young—three years, or may be four,
But manly for his age; his appetite
For bulls'-eyes, "coker"-nuts, and such light fare
Was something awful, even for a boy;
But better far than even coker-nuts,
He loved a maiden of surpassing grace—
Of humble parentage, but very fair,
Whose name euphonious was Susan Ann.
The parents of these twain were fisher-folk
Of low degree, but honest to a fault.
They would not steal the veriest pin, unless
They were quite certain they would not be caught.
Now Hunky's love for peerless Susan Ann
Was felt by her, and given back to Hunk;
And as the twain upon the yellow sands
Would play, young Sam would say, "Now let us be,
As grown-up folks, and we'll pretend we are
A wedded pair, and I will be a man,
And you, dear Susan Ann, my little wife;
And you, go sit within yon gloomy cave,
Which we will make believe to be our house,
And I'll come staggering in like daddy does,
And you can belt me on my flaxen head
With this small stick, which we will call a broom—
For that's the way my dad and mammy do."
And so they played upon the seashore sand
Till Susan Ann had got the thing down fine.
And time sped on, and Sam and Susan Ann
Were married, and the twain became one flesh.
PART II.
Sam went to sea, and whilst upon a voyage,
He read of Enoch Arden and his woes;
And so he soon resolved to do the same
As in the book he read that Enoch did.
To carry out his plan he sent word home,
By trusty shipmate, to his Susan Ann,
That he was drowned. He really did not care
A great deal for his once-loved Susan Ann,
Who, when the knot had but been tied a year,
Had clearly showed that she could be the boss.
So time sped on, and artful Hunky Sam
In foreign climates had a jolly time
For several years. "I think I'll homeward sail,"
One day he said, "and see how Susan Ann
Gets on; like Enoch, I will softly glide
Towards the cottage there upon the cliff,
And see how she makes out with her new man,
For she is doubtless wedded once again,
Just like that Mrs. Arden in the book."
Away he sailed across the sounding surge
(A good expression that, but not my own),
And soon he reached his village on the coast.
'Twas night. He crept towards the little cot
Where once he'd dwelt. A light was burning clear;
He peered in through the window. Susan Ann
Was there, but t'other fellow was away.
His wife glanced up: she saw the faithless Sam;
She sprang towards him—grabbed him by the hair
And held him there, whilst with her other arm
She dealt him myriad thwacks with broomstick stout.
"You would," she cried—"you would say you were dead,
And with your foreign gals go cuttin' up;
And leave me here to take in washing—eh?
You wretch! take that, and that, and that, and that!"
Each "that" being followed by a sickening thud.
PART III.
The curtain falls on this delightful scene,
As space is precious and will not permit
Of further details; but this goes to show
That things don't always turn out just the same
As those we read about in poets' yarns.
Another thing it shows—that Susan Ann
Had learned a trick when playing at being wed
Upon the seashore in her youthful days
That stood her in good stead in after years—
The wielding of the broomstick here is meant.
Scraps, August 1884.