My Mary
Who lives where beggars rarely speed,
And leads a humdrum life indeed
As none beside herself would lead?
My Mary.
Who lives where noises never cease,
And, what wi' hogs and ducks and geese,
Can never have a minute's peace?
My Mary.
Who, nearly battled to her chin,
Bangs down the yard through thick and thin,
Nor picks a road, nor cares a pin?
My Mary.
Who (save in Sunday bin-and-tuck)
Goes daily, waddling like a duck,
O'er head and ears in grease and muck?
My Mary.
Unused to pattens or to clogs,
Who takes the swill to serve the hogs,
And steals the milk for cats and dogs?
My Mary.
Who (frost and snow as hard as nails)
Stands out o' doors and never fails
To wash up things and scour the pails?
My Mary.
Who bustles night and day, in short,
At all catch jobs of every sort
And gains her Mistress' favour for't?
My Mary.
And who is oft repaid wi' praise
In doing what her Mistress says
And yielding to her whimmy ways?
My Mary.
For there's none apter, I believe,
At ‘creeping up her Mistress' sleeve’
Than this low kindred stump of Eve,
My Mary!
Who when the baby's all beshit
To please its mamma kisses it,
And vows no rose on earth's so sweet!
My Mary.
But when her Mistress isn't nigh
Who swears and wishes it would die,
And pinches it to make it cry?
My Mary.
Oh rank deceit! What soul could think—
But gently there, revealing ink!—
At faults of thine this friend must wink,
My Mary!
Who (not without a spark o' pride,
Though strong as grunters' bristly hide)
Does keep her hair in papers tied?
My Mary.
And, mimicking the gentry's way,
Who strives to speak as fine as they
And minds but every word they say?
My Mary.
And who (though's well bid blind to see
As her to tell the A from B)
Thinks herself none o' low degree?
My Mary.
Who prates, and runs o'er silly stuff,
And 'mong the boys makes sport enough—
So ugly, silly, droll and rough?
My Mary.
Ugly! Muse, for shame 'o thee,
What faults art thou a'going to see
In one that's lotted out to be?
My Mary?
But heedless sayings meaneth nought
Done innocent without a thought—
We humbly ask thy pardon for't,
My Mary.
Who, low in stature, thick and fat,
Turns brown from going without a hat
(Though not a pin the worse for that)?
My Mary.
Who's laughed at, too, by every whelp
For failings which they cannot help—
But silly fools will laugh and chelp,
My Mary!
For though in stature mighty small
And near as thick as thou art tall,
That hand made thee that made us all,
My Mary.
And though thy nose hooks down too much,
And prophesies thy chin to touch,
I'm not so nice to look at such,
My Mary.
No, no! About thy nose and chin,
Its hooking out or bending in,
I never heed nor care a pin,
My Mary!
And though thy skin is brown and rough,
And formed by Nature hard and tough,
All suiteth me—so that's enough,
And leads a humdrum life indeed
As none beside herself would lead?
My Mary.
Who lives where noises never cease,
And, what wi' hogs and ducks and geese,
Can never have a minute's peace?
My Mary.
Who, nearly battled to her chin,
Bangs down the yard through thick and thin,
Nor picks a road, nor cares a pin?
My Mary.
Who (save in Sunday bin-and-tuck)
Goes daily, waddling like a duck,
O'er head and ears in grease and muck?
My Mary.
Unused to pattens or to clogs,
Who takes the swill to serve the hogs,
And steals the milk for cats and dogs?
My Mary.
Who (frost and snow as hard as nails)
Stands out o' doors and never fails
To wash up things and scour the pails?
My Mary.
Who bustles night and day, in short,
At all catch jobs of every sort
And gains her Mistress' favour for't?
My Mary.
And who is oft repaid wi' praise
In doing what her Mistress says
And yielding to her whimmy ways?
My Mary.
For there's none apter, I believe,
At ‘creeping up her Mistress' sleeve’
Than this low kindred stump of Eve,
My Mary!
Who when the baby's all beshit
To please its mamma kisses it,
And vows no rose on earth's so sweet!
My Mary.
But when her Mistress isn't nigh
Who swears and wishes it would die,
And pinches it to make it cry?
My Mary.
Oh rank deceit! What soul could think—
But gently there, revealing ink!—
At faults of thine this friend must wink,
My Mary!
Who (not without a spark o' pride,
Though strong as grunters' bristly hide)
Does keep her hair in papers tied?
My Mary.
And, mimicking the gentry's way,
Who strives to speak as fine as they
And minds but every word they say?
My Mary.
And who (though's well bid blind to see
As her to tell the A from B)
Thinks herself none o' low degree?
My Mary.
Who prates, and runs o'er silly stuff,
And 'mong the boys makes sport enough—
So ugly, silly, droll and rough?
My Mary.
Ugly! Muse, for shame 'o thee,
What faults art thou a'going to see
In one that's lotted out to be?
My Mary?
But heedless sayings meaneth nought
Done innocent without a thought—
We humbly ask thy pardon for't,
My Mary.
Who, low in stature, thick and fat,
Turns brown from going without a hat
(Though not a pin the worse for that)?
My Mary.
Who's laughed at, too, by every whelp
For failings which they cannot help—
But silly fools will laugh and chelp,
My Mary!
For though in stature mighty small
And near as thick as thou art tall,
That hand made thee that made us all,
My Mary.
And though thy nose hooks down too much,
And prophesies thy chin to touch,
I'm not so nice to look at such,
My Mary.
No, no! About thy nose and chin,
Its hooking out or bending in,
I never heed nor care a pin,
My Mary!
And though thy skin is brown and rough,
And formed by Nature hard and tough,
All suiteth me—so that's enough,
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