Young Joe, he was a carman gay, As any town could show; His team was good, and, like his pence, Was always on the go; A thing, as every jackass knows, Which often leads to _wo_!
It fell out that he fell in love, By some odd chance or whim, With Alice Payne--beside whose eyes All other eyes were dim: The painful tale must out--indeed, She was _A Pain_ to him.
For, when he ask’d her civilly To make one of _they_ two, She whipp’d her tongue across her teeth, And said, “D’ye think it true, I’d trust my _load_ of life with _sich_ A waggoner as you?
“No, no--to be a carman’s wife Will ne’er suit Alice Payne; I’d better far a lone woman For evermore remain, Than have it said, while in my youth, My life is on the _wain_!”
“Oh, Alice Payne! Oh, Alice Payne! Why won’t you meet with me?” Then up she curl’d her nose, and said, “Go axe your axletree; I tell you, Joe, this--once for all-- My _joe_ you shall not be.”
She spoke the fatal “no,” which put A spoke into his wheel-- And stopp’d his happiness, as though She’d cry _wo!_ to his _weal_:-- These women ever steal our hearts, And then their own they _steel_.
So round his melancholy neck Poor Joe his drag-chain tied, And hook’d it on a hook--“Oh! what A weight is life!” he cried; Then off he cast himself--and thus The cast-off carman died!
Howbeit, as his son was set, (Poor Joe!) at set of sun, They laid him in his lowly grave, And gravely that was done; And she stood by, and laugh’d outright-- How wrong--the guilty one!
But the day of retribution comes Alike to prince and hind, As surely as the summer’s sun Must yield to wintry wind: Alas! she did not mind his peace-- So she’d no peace of mind.
For when she sought her bed of rest, Her rest was all on thorns; And there another lover stood, Who wore a pair of horns: His little tiny feet were cleft, And cloven, like a fawn’s;
His face and garb were dark and black, As daylight to the blind; And a something undefinable Around his skirt was twin’d-- As if he wore, like other pigs, His pigtail out behind.
His arms, though less than other men’s, By no means _harm-less_ were: Dark elfin locks en lock’d his brow-- You might not call them hair; And, oh! it was a _gas-tly_ sight To see his eye-balls glare.