There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle,
So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.
He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy,
And his little wife was pretty and particularly cosy.
And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter hearty—
He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.
And I said, “O gentle pieman, why so very, very merry?
Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?”
But he answered, “I’m so happy—no profession could be dearer—
If I am not humming ‘Tra! la! la!’ I’m singing ‘Tirer, lirer!’
“First I go and make the patties, and the puddings, and the jellies,
Then I make a sugar bird-cage, which upon a table swell is;
“Then I polish all the silver, which a supper-table lacquers;
Then I write the pretty mottoes which you find inside the crackers.”—
“Found at last!” I madly shouted. “Gentle pieman, you astound me!”
Then I waved the turtle soup enthusiastically round me.
And I shouted and I danced until he’d quite a crowd around him—
And I rushed away exclaiming, “I have found him! I have found him!”
And I heard the gentle pieman in the road behind me trilling,
“‘Tira, lira!’ stop him, stop him! ‘Tra! la! la!’ the soup’s a shilling!”