“I have three gifts—the first will give
Unbounded riches while you live;
The second health where’er you be;
The third, invisibility.”
“O little fairy Picklekin,”
Old Peter answered with a grin,
“To hesitate would be absurd,—
Undoubtedly I choose the third.”
“’Tis yours,” the fairy said; “be quite
Invisible to mortal sight
Whene’er you please. Remember me
Most kindly, pray, to Mrs. P.”
Old Mrs. Peter overheard
Wee Picklekin’s concluding word,
And, jealous of her girlhood’s choice,
Said, “That was some young woman’s voice!”
Old Peter let her scold and swear—
Old Peter, bless him, didn’t care.
“My dear, your rage is wasted quite—
Observe, I disappear from sight!”
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!