John, John Brady,’
Quoth my dear lady,
‘Pray now, pray now, go your way now,
Do, John, do!’”
At first the gipsy did not seem to know where that mocking song came from, but when she discovered that it was her prisoner, the old parrot, who was thus daring to imitate her, she stood silent and glared at him, and her face was almost white with rage.
When he came to the end of the verse he pretended to burst into a violent fit of sobbing and crying, and screeched out to his wife, “Mate! mate! hand up my handkerchief. Oh! oh! it’s so affecting, this song is.”
Upon this the other parrot pulled Jack’s handkerchief from under her wing, hobbled up, and began, with a great show of zeal, to wipe his horny beak with it. But this was too much for the gipsy; she took a large brush from her cart, and flung it at the cage with all her might.
This set it violently swinging backwards and forwards, but did not stop the parrot, who screeched out, “How delightful it is to be swung!” And then he began to sing another verse in the most impudent tone possible, and with a voice that seemed to ring through Jack’s head, and almost pierce it.
“Yet my fair lady’s my own, own lady,
For I passed another day;