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The Squire's Daughter
by James WilliamsWe crawled about the nursery
In tenderest years in tether,
At six we waded in the sea
And caught our colds together.
At ten we practised playing at
A kind of heathen cricket,
A croquet mallet was the bat,
The Squire's old hat the wicket.
At twelve, the cricket waxing slow,
With home-made bow and arrow
We took to shooting--once I know
I all but hit a sparrow.
She took birds' nests from easy trees,
I climbed the oaks and ashes,
'Twas deadly work for hands and knees,
Deplorable for sashes.
At hide and seek one summer day
We played in merry laughter,
'Twas then she hid her heart away,
I never found it after.
So time slipped by until my call,
For out of the professions
I chose the Bar as best of all,
And joined the Loamshire Sessions.
The reason for it was that there
Her father, short and pursy,
Doled out scant justice in the chair
And even scanter mercy.
As Holofernes lost his head
To Judith of Bethulia,
So I fell victim, but instead
Of Judith it was Julia.
My speech left juries in the dark,
Of Julia I was thinking,
And once I heard a coarse remark
About a fellow drinking.
I practised verse in leisure time
Both in and out of season,
It was indubitably rhyme,
Occasionally reason.
I lacked the cheek to tell my woes,
Had not concealment fed on
My damask cheek, but left my nose
With twice its share of red on?
Too horrible was this suspense,
At last, in desperation
I went to Loamshire on pretence
Of death of a relation.
The Squire was beaming; "Julia's gone
To London for a visit,
But with a wedding coming on
That's not surprising, is it?
"Old friends like you will think, no doubt,
That she is young to marry,
But ever since she first came out,
She's been engaged to Harry."