Page:The Bab Ballads.djvu/59

 "A fool is bent upon a twig, but wise men dread a bandit," Which I know was very clever; but I didn't understand it.

Seven weary years I wandered—Patagonia, China, Norway, Till at last I sank exhausted at a pastrycook his doorway.

There were fuchsias and geraniums, and daffodils and myrtle, So I entered, and I ordered half a basin of mock turtle.

He was plump and he was chubby, he was smooth and he was rosy, And his little wife was pretty, and particularly cozy.

And he chirped and sang, and skipped about, and laughed with laughter hearty— He was wonderfully active for so very stout a party.

And I said, "O, gentle pieman, why so very, very merry? Is it purity of conscience, or your one-and-seven sherry?" But he answered, "I'm so happy—no profession could be dearer— If I am not humming 'Tra! la! la!' I'm singing 'Tirer, lirer!' "First I go and make the patties, and the puddings and the jellies, Then I make a sugar birdcage, which upon a table swell is;