A well-bred fairy (so I’ve heard)
Is always faithful to her word:
Old Peter vanished like a shot,
Put then—his suit of clothes did not!
For when conferred the fairy slim
Invisibility on him,
She popped away on fairy wings,
Without referring to his “things.”
So there remained a coat of blue,
A vest and double eyeglass too,
His tail, his shoes, his socks as well,
His pair of—no, I must not tell.
Old Mrs. Peter soon began
To see the failure of his plan,
And then resolved (I quote the Bard)
To “hoist him with his own petard.”
Old Peter woke next day and dressed,
Put on his coat, and shoes, and vest,
His shirt and stock; but could not find
His only pair of—never mind!
Old Peter was a decent man,
And though he twigged his lady’s plan,
Yet, hearing her approaching, he
Resumed invisibility.
“Dear Mrs. P., my only joy,”
Exclaimed the horrified old boy,
“Now, give them up, I beg of you—
You know what I’m referring to!”
But no; the cross old lady swore
She’d keep his—what I said before—
To make him publicly absurd;
And Mrs. Peter kept her word.
The poor old fellow had no rest;
His coat, his stick, his shoes, his vest,
Were all that now met mortal eye—
The rest, invisibility!
“Now, madam, give them up, I beg—
I’ve had rheumatics in my leg;
Besides, until you do, it’s plain
I cannot come to sight again!