THE FAITHLESS PEELER.
SKULKING slily down the area,
He to her his mind doth tell—
"I feel somewhat dry, my Mary,
And some beer would be as well."
She replies, by way of feeler,
"La, who'd thought of seeing thee?"
He is but a smart young peeler,
And a maid-of all-work she.
He to lips that do not falter,
Raises up the half-pint mug;
Vows his love will never alter—
Eyeing hard the empty jug.
"I can pick that bone of pheasant,
Little care I for a knife—
Love, it makes our duty pleasant,
Luncheon love I dear as life."
He across the kitchen going,
Sees two lordly bottles stand;
"India pale" within them glowing,
And he grasps one in each hand.
From deep thought himself he rouses,
Says to her that loves him well,
"I could pop these in my trousers'
Pocket, and no one might tell."
This he doth by her attended,
And they lovingly converse
Of the toothsome things that tended
To bind so close his heart to hers.
Leg of pork, with sauce of apple,
Fowl and bacon and broad beans;
cold roast beef, with which he'd grapple,
Sooner than with warmed-up greens.
What she gives him makes her dearer,
Such she hopes to be the case;
Hopes his beat will still be near her,
Should she ever change her place.
Oh! but he doth love her truly;
He shall have a cup of tea—
She will bring it to him duly,
Some time after half-past three.
And her heart rejoices greatly,
Whenever peeler she discerns,
Past the small boys pacing stately,
While they mimic him by turns.
Thinks he looks far more majestic
Than he ever looked before—
Fears he winked at the domestic
Higher up at Number Four;
Hears him speak in gentle murmur,
Knows he's answering her call,
While he treads with footstep firmer,
Leading past the garden wall.
All at once the colour flushes
His false face from brow to chin;
As it were with shame he blushes,
While she vows she's "been took in."
Then unable to conceal her
Love, she murmurs, "Oh, that he
Were once more that faithful Peeler,
Which did win my heart from me."
He but begged she'd no more bore him,
When she falls flat at his side;
Gathered soon a crowd before him,
Whilst to lift her up he tried;
And one came to raise her bonnet,
And he looked at him and said,
"Bring a chair, and place her on it,
For I fear she's hurt her head."
Home they took her, and next morning,
By her mistress she's addressed,
"Mary, you have a month's warning—
This time, mind. I'm not in jest.
The Puppet Show, July 29, 1848.