“For though your mates, you often boast.
You distance out-and-out;
Still, in the abstract, you’re a most
Uncompromising lout!”
Poor Bill, he gave a heavy sigh,
He tried in vain to speak—
A fat tear started to each eye
And coursed adown each cheek.
For, oh! right well in truth he knew
That very self-same day,
The Lord de Jacob Pillaloo
Was coming there to stay!
The Lord de Jacob Pillaloo
All proper maidens shun—
He loves all women, it is true,
But never marries one.
Now Jane, with all her mad self-will,
Was no coquette—oh no!
She really loved her faithful Bill,
And thus she tuned her woe:
“Oh, willow, willow, o’er the lea!
And willow once again!
The Peer will fall in love with me!
Why wasn’t I made plain?”
* * * * *
A cunning woman lived hard by,
A sorceressing dame,
MacCatacomb de Salmon-Eye
Was her uncommon name.
To her good Jane, with kindly yearn
For Bill’s increasing pain,
Repaired in secrecy to learn
How best to make her plain.
“Oh, Jane,” the worthy woman said,
“This mystic phial keep,
And rub its liquor in your head
Before you go to sleep.