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Bab Ballads (version 2)

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<h2>THE PERIWINKLE GIRL</h2> I’ve often thought that headstrong youths    Of decent education, Determine all-important truths,    With strange precipitation. The ever-ready victims they,    Of logical illusions, And in a self-assertive way    They jump at strange conclusions. Now take my case: Ere sorrow could    My ample forehead wrinkle, I had determined that I should    Not care to be a winkle. “A winkle,” I would oft advance    With readiness provoking, “Can seldom flirt, and never dance,    Or soothe his mind by smoking.” In short, I spurned the shelly joy,    And spoke with strange decision— Men pointed to me as a boy    Who held them in derision. But I was young—too young, by far—    Or I had been more wary, I knew not then that winkles are    The stock-in-trade of Mary. I had not watched her sunlight blithe    As o’er their shells it dances— I’ve seen those winkles almost writhe    Beneath her beaming glances. Of slighting all the winkly brood    I surely had been chary, If I had known they formed the food    And stock-in-trade of Mary. Both high and low and great and small    Fell prostrate at her tootsies, They all were noblemen, and all    Had balances at Coutts’s. Dukes with the lovely maiden dealt,    Duke Bailey and Duke Humphy, Who ate her winkles till they felt    Exceedingly uncomfy. Duke Bailey greatest wealth computes,    And sticks, they say, at no-thing, He wears a pair of golden boots    And silver underclothing. Duke Humphy, as I understand,    Though mentally acuter, His boots are only silver, and    His underclothing pewter. A third adorer had the girl,    A man of lowly station— A miserable grov’ling Earl    Besought her approbation. This humble cad she did refuse    With much contempt and loathing, He wore a pair of leather shoes    And cambric underclothing! “Ha! ha!” she cried.  “Upon my word!    Well, really—come, I never! Oh, go along, it’s too absurd!    My goodness!  Did you ever? “Two Dukes would Mary make a bride,    And from her foes defend her”— “Well, not exactly that,” they cried,    “We offer guilty splendour. “We do not offer marriage rite,    So please dismiss the notion!” “Oh dear,” said she, “that alters quite    The state of my emotion.” The Earl he up and says, says he,    “Dismiss them to their orgies, For I am game to marry thee    Quite reg’lar at St. George’s.” (He’d had, it happily befell,    A decent education, His views would have befitted well    A far superior station.) His sterling worth had worked a cure,    She never heard him grumble; She saw his soul was good and pure,    Although his rank was humble. Her views of earldoms and their lot,    All underwent expansion— Come, Virtue in an earldom’s cot!    Go, Vice in ducal mansion! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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