Quickly the knave observed that the good dame
In her geography was rather lame—
That Paradise with Paris she confounded.
And though one moment he looked up astounded,
The next into her droll conceit he fell,
Saying, "Oh, yes! I know the good man well."
"What! have you really been already there?"
She cried. "Then say, how does the dear one fare?"
"Ah! very badly. 'Tis a tale of woe!
I was up there about a month ago.
A sort of a dog's life the poor thing led,
Early he had to rise—get late to bed;
Worked hard, and scarce a stitch of clothing had.
His shroud and grave-clothes from the first were bad;
They very soon wore out, and now he goes
Without a coat, and with bare legs and toes."
These words went like a.dagger to her heart;
She shuddered—groaned—then, with a sudden start
She rose, and soon an ample bundle made
Of linen, coats, warm woollen socks; and said,
Whilst with big tear-drops both her eyes looked dim,
“ This package, sir, I pray you take to him.
Tell the poor fellow I shall send him mere
By the first opportunity—a store
I'll surely send. Oh-dear! oh dear! 'tis sad
His fate in yonder place should be so bad I"
The rogue had stuffed quite to his heart’s content,
So, taking up the bundle, off he went;
But first he thanked her fer the food, and vowed
The clothes she sent should soon replace the shroud.
Long, long she sits, her eyes still full of tears:
The absent husband now at length appears
('Tis to the second one that I allude—
The first, as has been shown, was gone for good).
"Well, I have curious tidings for your ear—
A man from Paradise has just been here;
He knew poor Thi—is there." (Such was the name
Of him who was first husband to the dame.)
And thereupon, with a most serious face,
She told him all that had just taken place.
The husband, when he heard her, smelled a rat,
But only saying he would have a chat
Himself with the great traveller, he sent
For his best horse, and after him he went.
'Twas a sweet night, the moon was shining clearly—
Just such a night as poets love most dearly;
The nightingales were pouring forth their notes,
The owls were exercising, too, their throats;
But, what was better still, he found the track
The thief had ta’en, and hoped to bring him back.
Thieves, by the way, like the moon's silver rays
Far better than the sun’s meridian blaze.
And now, how fared it with the thief himself,
Thus making off with his ill-gotten pelf?
He spied a man, who like old Nick was riding,
And felt that he was in for a good hiding;
