* * * * * *
Now the festive board with viands is stored,
Savory dishes be there, I ween,
Rich puddings and big, and a barbacued pig,
And ox-tail soup in a China tureen.
There's a flagon of ale as large as a pail—
When, cockle on hat, and staff in hand,
While on naught they are thinking save eating and drinking,
Gengulphus walks in from the Holy Land!
"You must be pretty deep to catch weasels asleep,"
Says the proverb: that is "take the Fair unawares."
A maid o'er the banisters chancing to peep,
Whispers, "Ma'am, here's Gengulphus a-coming up-stairs."
Pig, pudding, and soup, the electrified group,
With the flagon pop under the sofa in haste,
And contrive to deposit the Clerk in the closet,
As the dish least of all to Gengulphus's taste.
Then oh! what rapture, what joy was exprest,
When "poor dear Gengulphus" at last appear'd!
She kiss'd and she press'd "the dear man" to her breast,
In spite of his "great, long, frizzly beard."
Such hugging and squeezing! 'twas almost unpleasing,
A smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye;
She was so very glad, that she seem'd half mad,
And did not know whether to laugh or to cry.
Then she calls up the maid and the table-cloth's laid,
And she sends for a pint of the best Brown Stout;
On the fire, too, she pops some nice mutton-chops,
And she mixes a stiff glass of "Cold Without."
Then again she began at the "poor dear" man;
She press'd him to drink, and she press'd him to eat,
And she brought a foot-pan, with hot water and bran,
To comfort his "poor dear" travel-worn feet.
"Nor night nor day since he'd been away,
Had she had any rest," she "vow'd and declared."
She "never could eat one morsel of meat,
For thinking how 'poor dear' Gengulphus fared."