Part 5

As thus he thought, for lips refused to speak, A queer sensation trickled o'er his cheek. In vain each nerve he strains to turn his eyes, For they're immovable; but soon he spies A large red worm, and in its trail there creep A dozen more, who prowl about and peep Into his mouth and nose, and tickle so That what to do he's puzzled much to know. "The bait has 'scaped from out my box," thought he; "And, while entranced, from spite would bother me." What would he not have given for a scratch! A good hard rub would even nectar match. The richest feast he felt he could forego For the relief of one good sweeping blow. "O that some large, emancipated bear, Would for his lunch my corpse in pieces tear! Than this dread tickling, I'm persuaded quite, I'd much enjoy his hug and hearty bite." "Hookey!" exclaimed the worm: "a bite no more You'll get from us,--'tis useless to implore. You're 'off the hooks,' as vulgar writers scribble, But we'll supply you with a little nibble." With this some dozen irritating teeth Dashed through his skin, but gave him no relief. His face is stiffened o'er with mud and slime, While burning rays are scorching all the time His dew-less eyes--and, parched with heat and thirst, His swollen tongue appears as if 'twould burst. Then a red worm arose, Perched a-top of his nose, And clearing his throat made the following speech:-- "My dearest friend Peter, As your guests we greet yer, And mean to stick to you as tight as a leech; For the bright sun will fry us All the meat you supply us. Oh, you're now in such excellent season, That for months we'll contrive, If the crows don't arrive, To repast, though our numbers increase on. Now don't look so sulky,--recollect how you used us-- (For your airs and ill-temper will only amuse us). Pray just think how you took, And for fun, on a hook Soused us head over heels in the depths of the river, For the fishes to bite Till we're washed away quite. But the thought is enough to make any worm shiver. But your sport Is all caught, And 'tis our turn to tease. We can't hook You--but, look You, you won't get much ease, For your ears we shall enter, and down your throat dive: Whilst, to make the most of you, as rivals we'll strive: But your bones will be left when we've finally done To be washed by the rain and made white by the sun. Oh, revenge is a sweet and a delicate sauce, Which will sharpen our teeth should we chance feel remorse." Then a dark'ning shade o'er the victim's head, Like a tiny cloud or a sun-blind, spread, While his brow was fanned by a gentle breeze, Which seemed to descend from the waving trees. 'Twas a moment of bliss, till, lo! he saw A pair of black wings and a darksome claw, Which pierced through his face where 'twas peeled and raw. "O joyful," he thought, "if this crow devours The tormentors of these distracted hours! Once rid of these plagues I could rot with ease; They tickle far worse than a thousand fleas!" But the carrion crows preferred hot meat To such reptile food, and began to eat, And piece after piece from his cheek they tore,-- Such torture he felt he could scarce endure; So he said, "Good crow, if you'll raise your claw, No fish I'll entice from the cool stream more. The worms in their holes shall be safe, I'm sure; While the dryest of crusts with pleasure I'll gnaw, And won't dream of a trout though I'm hungry sore." "We'll grant your request," said the crow; "but mind, If ever you fishing we chance to find, If ever maltreating the smallest worm, Or to the least item prove aught but firm, We'll soon all come back, and will with us bring The adder to bite with his poisoned sting; The earwig on those dull brains to prey Which scattered within your pate may stray; While your eyes I shall pick out as dainty food, As a bit of a snack for my unfledged brood." Yes, he now has enough of experience bought To teach him to give o'er such cruel sport. As thus spake the crow, Her wings to and fro She waved, and told the worms to go. "He's our lawful prey, Now he's dead," said they: "He'll get so tough by a future day." But without a word more She uplifted her claw And swept them all off from his face and breast. While the breath from her wings Such happiness brings That, gaping and snoring, he sank to rest. But 'twas short, though sweet, like a donkey's trot-- He woke, not refreshed, but dreadfully hot, When he found why such visions his fancies fill,-- He had fallen asleep near an old ant hill. And the ants while he slept Had over him crept, Into his shoes, And down his neck; Wherever they chose-- For little they reck What mischief they do: Now the master's out, They run each room through, And frolic about.

The moisture they sip As they cross his lip, And where there's a wrinkle to bathe, they dip. Then at hide and seek On his whisker'd cheek They frisk about; But soon they all flit, They've an order to quit, Their lease is out. For he shook his old coat, though he greatly fears He's only increasing the rent in arrears; While he stamped in his rage to destroy the nest Of the vermin who dared to disturb his rest. Now tow'rds the cot his steps were bent, A-musing as he onward went, Though no bright thoughts amuse, Until soon his mind turned to the forthcoming treat: Though the trout are too small, little fishes are sweet, And beggars their banquets mayn't choose. Now he enters the door, when, instead of too late, He discovers he has some few minutes to wait, For the fish are not done, As the dame had to run To borrow a saucepan--as fluids retire Through theirs, and will fret, and oft put out the fire. But the pan was in use, So the dame's tongue ran loose While she stayed to chat there, for best part of an hour, Of the state of affairs, Of the price of the shares, Or the politics secret of some foreign power. But now quick as steam they are boiling away, Resolved to o'ertake--if not run down--delay; While Pat and young Matty are laying the cloth, And Sally to slumber is getting Mike off. "They're but small ones to-day," said the dame, "and I fear But a very poor dinner when drest they'll appear. I wish that our cupboard could aid your repast, But Pat of them sausages just ate the last." "Now the truth is," said Peter, "I numbers had caught, But I dug in my book till so buried in thought, That soon rod, float, and line were by me heeded nought. Though lots came so near My lecture to hear, That one with my hand I nigh caught her, Those two I'd not took But they bit at my hook As baitless it lay in the water." "Oh, my ears must deceive me," said Sally, "I'm sure. Did you say your discourse to destruction would lure Those who listen by chance to the words that you say, In the place of at once getting out of the way? But wait--let me think--'twas our book you were reading. No wonder you were not your rod and line heeding. We missed it soon after you left, but we guessed, That p'rhaps of the two you might like it the best."

Oh how Peter longed to give Pat a good poke! But he knew that the dame saw no harm in a joke, And he feared lest his fish she might burn. So smiling he said, "I another one sought, But here's your one back, which with me I brought, As I wished it at once to return." O Fiction! Miss Fiction! 'tis really too bad Thus one monstrous lie to another to add, As boys thread birds' eggs on a string. But he much had to fear, As you'll presently hear, His punishment's now on the wing. The trout by this were cooked, And so temptingly looked And smelt, they made Peter's mouth water; While Pat's lips at the view, And Mike's little beak, too, Are moist--and the dame's, and both daughters'. (For the child is not sleepy, and won't his eyes close-- There are victuals a-cooking he very well knows, Which, if not wide awake, he does justly suppose He shall lose, as provisions had run rather close.) Now the monk, nigh had offered the ladies a slice, But they looked, oh, so small! and they smelt, oh, so nice! That he thought he could never have meant it. For his maxim it was, ne'er an action to do When there was the least chance in a moment or two Of his finding good cause to repent it. So he said, "You've all dined?" and, as matter of course, He soon sat himself down to concoct the fish sauce, As he fancied he did it the best. But of what it was made I ne'er heard, so can't tell, Though I'm certain the subject he'd studied right well, For the good dame its merits confest.

But he long had not been Ere he fancied he'd seen The tail of a coat through the hedge flap. "'Tis the Abbot," he thought, "And I now shall be caught, Like a frog or a toad in a rat-trap. In this cupboard I'll go, And mind, dame, you say 'No,' If about me he happen to ask. 'Tis really provoking, And far beyond joking! To evade him 's become quite a task."

O Conscience! how truly the proverb declares, That Sin about with him his punishment bears. Yea his shadow will scare him, and make his heart quake, If, instead of the right, he another path take. He was scarcely concealed when a form the door darken'd. Quick his eye to the keyhole was placed, while he hearken'd Who it was to find out, when he felt a sharp bite At his leg, which gave him such a terrible fright That he near had rushed out, ere he found he had been On the cat and her kittens a-tumbling in. But a voice his attention that moment arrested-- 'Tis a subject, perchance, in which he's interested. So once more his gaze pierced the keyhole right through, Where he had of the table an excellent view.

"How are you, my angel? Much pleasure it gives Me to see you! For your sake alone Murphy lives. Though your beautiful charms all his brains are fast stealing, And his heart it would break did you hurt but a feeling. Will you bless, then, your slave, by accepting of this Tiny gift of affection--a sweet wholesome kiss? For, believe me, no onion I've tasted to-day, Though that delicate fruit's very much in my way. What!--you'd much rather not? Sure yourself you are spiting Quite as much as myself, whom your charms are delighting. Only think, what a way, for your sake I have brought it, And though numbers of females most anxiously sought it (Some too passably fair, yet--believe me, 'tis true,-- I met never a one so bewitching as you). Still I kept my teeth close, though 'twas really perplexing Their sweet lips to see pouting, and gentle hearts vexing. But come, Matty and Sal, you will kiss your new father, For I'm sure that your ma would say Yes than No, rather. Though some cruel event has her peace of mind crossed, Still she's anxious to find the sweet temper she's lost. And Pat, my fine fellow, how are you to-day? Here's sixpence to spend in some comical way. Shall I give it your mother? she'll of it take care; But whatever you buy give your sisters a share. Stay, what is this nice smell? who has dinner not done? For I see by the cloth it is spread but for one: Sure you never expected to see me! For there seemed not a chance, when I got up to-day, Of my having the power to come round this way, Though I felt almost dying to see thee." Now the dame was perplexed; What to say or do next She certainly knew not. While the friar must choose His nice dinner to lose If quick out he flew not. For the cover was raised, And the cooking was praised, As the dame whisp'ring low said "'Twas, dear Murphy, for you They were dressed, for we knew You would call as you so said The last time you were here; And your welcome's sincere, Though they're small ones--I fear Pat was sleepy or lazy, For the hot weather, says he Makes one take all things aisy." "Oh, no mother, I aint. I was reading my book, When, without any bait, they both snapt at my hook. I had nigh chucked them back they're so small, but I thought You might think half a loaf perhaps better than naught."

Now Murphy was sure there was either some hoax, Or young Pat was a-playing his practical jokes. But he conscious seem'd not, for 'twas always his way To entice them to words, which their thoughts would betray.

"Well, Patrick, my boy, you're a fisherman clever! Such a dainty repast a monarch saw never; Sure it makes me feel hungry, although I've just dined. But as eating two dinners seems greedy inclined, I will just call this tea; but I'm not such a baste As to eat all myself--you must each have a taste. Come here, Mike, we're old friends, you must sit on my knee; And pray girls, get chairs, quick; they are near cold I see; For the time I should come your ma guessed so near right, They were out of the pot ere I came within sight. But pray what's this black stuff? Pat, you rogue, come confess, For I'm sure it was you made this horrible mess. What! 'tis fish-sauce, you say? 'Twill a source prove of pain, And will beckon the trout to your mouth back again." Now all are supplied, But when you divide What is small 'mong a number, there's not much a-piece. 'Twas a sum, Murphy thought, In division called short. He had multiplied rather, if they'd so increase. But skill failed to contrive;-- So the two into five Went only just once and none over. While the girls from each other Cast sly looks at their mother, Whose thoughts to the cupboard run over. Shall we eat it or leave it? their eyes seemed to say, Quite forgetting that looks will their secrets betray. While in vain the poor dame may nod, frown, or may wink, For whatever she means they can none of them think.

Meanwhile the poor friar half stifled remains, And gives vent to his thoughts in the following strains:-- "O, cruel Miss Fortune, my dinner thus stealing! I wish that I never had thought of concealing. O do spare but a tail for one mouthful, I pray thee! I could relish roast jackass, without sauce or gravy, I so hungry have got; while this cupboard's so close, That I'm speckled with dew like a morn-gathered rose. I would quickly escape, if it were not for shame. Let me see if I cannot some good excuse frame, As a cure for this terrible fasting. Can I make it appear that for something I've sought? But, O dear me, I fear that I here shall find naught Save the cats and myself who just past in. But, hark! some one's speaking--I'll hear what they're saying, I may chance get off free by a moment's delaying. "A delicious repast This," said Murphy; "when last I was feasted on trout was in good O'Neal's time. I considered him then Among wisest of men, Till he drowned him in drink, which I thought quite a crime. For, pray, who in his senses would be after leaving Such a family sweet at his loss to be grieving? Sure, though I am single, and have not much wealth, I would give all the world for such treasures myself. Now, dear Mistress O'Neal, you've a very snug home, 'Tis a thousand of pities you live all alone With no male to protect you. I know a young fellow Who the place of your slave would supply very well. O He's just the right size; is not ugly, very. Has a voice for a song; is lively and merry. Can hedge, ditch, reap, and sow; can attend to a farm; While his heart is so soft he a flea would not harm. Then he dotes upon children, from Pat's age to Mike's, And those sweet babes of your'n are the sort that he likes. Sure you'll take him at once on my recommendation; For although he's ne'er been in a like situation, He has made it his business to please all the ladies; Ev'ry wish, although nonsense, directly obeyed is." Then her hands clasping tight, on his knees down he plumped, (While the echoing walls cried to hear the floor thumped), Saying, "Sweetest of angels! my darling! my deary! Do just listen a moment, I pray thee, and hear me. For you know that of nectar you are the sweet essence, Those who fail to admire you, than none sure have less sense. 'Tis myself is the slave in whose praise I was speaking, Who, when wedded to you, would be prouder than the king. Then consent to be mine--dearest one, don't say No, Or I out of my senses shall certainly go." Now the good dame the whole, From the depth of her soul, Believed----and her feelings could scarcely control (She, 'tis true, had preferred That the monk had not heard, For where he was hid he must catch ev'ry word), But, much pleased altogether, She was pondering whether To escape out of hearing if she could endeavour. So she said, "Mr. Murphy, if outside you'll walk, On the subject you've mentioned we'll have a short talk, Though I cannot afford a man-servant to keep-- It would ruin me quite!" But her plan was too deep For poor Murphy to guess; who, not knowing her reason, Thought she lov'd some one else, and despising such treason Cried, "Oh, treat me not falsely; my love is most true, And I never will love any other than you. Oh, I cannot thus leave you--I will not depart Till you say, 'I am thine!' thou delight of my heart! O 'tis cruel to keep me thus long in suspense; Your mistaking my meaning is all a pretence. But you women delight so to bother and tease us, When your study should be to make much of and please us; Like an angler ere landing his fish plays about Just for sport, when he knows he might pull him straight out. But remember, there's many a good fish been lost By the snap of a line, which a dinner has cost." "That is meant sure, for me," thought the friar; "no doubt. How I wish the good dame could have coaxed the chap out! For 'tis plain as my face, she's in love with the man; And he jealous may grow, while do all that I can I much trouble may find in him undeceiving. Those fellows are often so hard of believing!"

But not long could poor Peter discov'ry put off, For he's all at once seized with a tickling cough, Which to strangle he tries, but in vain; though he pokes His red fist in his mouth till he very nigh chokes; For escape it would find, like a boiler of steam: Wherein water expands to such size that 'twould seem It must verily burst, when the safety-valve opes And the vapour unfettered from darkness elopes. So it was with the monk; had his cough not dispersed, Sure his lungs from the pressure had certainly burst.