YE MAYDEN AND YE EGGE.
The shades of night were gone—at last,
As, all agog to break her fast,
A maiden sat, 'mid kith and kin,
While bent, impatient to begin,
Egg-shell she o'er.
Ye Paterfamilias.
His brow was staid; his eyes beneath
Were closed. Not so his lips and teeth,
Whence, like a copper clarion rung
"Grace before meat." Still, listening, hung
Egg-shell she o'er.
Hys remonstrance.
"Try not the egg!" the "old man" cried,
"Dark lowers some prodigy inside!
What if fowl play?"—no more he said,
For her protecting fingers spread
Egg-shell she o'er.
Ye Mayden—her Prayer.
"Stay, Pa!" the maiden said, "let's test
Your query, ere upon this breast
You anguish pile." Her moistening eye
Here drooped, and struggled with a sigh,
Egg-shell she o'er.
Ye Fynde.
At break of shell, as chickenward
(For aught she knew) her spoon she stirred,
A something stubborn claimed a stare.
"My brooch!" cried with a startled air,
Egg-shell she o'er.
Ye Ende.
There in the middle—so they say—
Hard, but albuminous it lay.
And, when she grew serener, far,
Fished the thing up, with "dear old star!"
Egg-shell she o'er.
This ingenious but rather mad parody appeared in The Figaro of May 6, 1876.