Cautionary Tales

Grown-up Children

No. 3.—Henrietta the Luckies Hen.
Some poets chant of noble deeds.
Of handsome knights on stalwart
Of lady loves and Tournaments,
And Saracens in little tents;
And there are some who sing with
"Blue" songs of "Baby" and their
And some whose maxim seems to be incomprehensibility.
But I possess a Muse who cants
Without such pomp and circumstance:
I will demean myself, and sing
Of rustic love like anything—
Of Henrietta's tragedy.
And Robert's infidelity.

Now Henrietta was a hen
Of penetrating [unclear: Mu-men]
Combining with intelligence
The maximum of common sense!
Her neck was like the driven snow—
(At least, her Robert told her so)—
She knew that she was fair because Her Robert often said she was!
"Her Robert" was a rooster who
Would look about the same to you
As any other rooster, though
Poor Henrietta loved him so
That in her eyes lift would appear
A veritable Chanticleer!
Near them lived one Penelope,
Regarding them with Jealousy.
A Leghorn of uncertain age
And rather doubtful parentage.
She worshiped Robert—when he crew,
She loved him so, she tried to, too!
And when he smiled, Penelope
Would cluck in dreamy ecstasy,
And scratch the ground, and wave her legs.
And lay an awful lot of eggs!
But Henrietta did not see
That Robert loved Penelope!
(Of course, he couldn't tell this to
His dainty Henrietta, who
Believed that she was his elect,
As Henrietta might object! )

Black Orpingtons and leghorns too
Brought other fowls or motley hue—
Some black, some white, some dirty
On Henrietta's wedding day.
(They had no parson—I suppose
They'd substitute u parson's nose!)
And all the ladles squawked with glee.
Excepting Miss Penelope!
But oh. alas! Oh. deary me!
Oh, what a dire catastrophe!
The strongest love could not withstand
The strength of Farmer Jenkins' hand!
He snatched her from her Robert's side,
A palpitating, fluttering bride.
And said that "She'd be nice for tea!"
(What triumph for Penelope!)
Shall I relate what happened then
To Henrietta, luckless hen?
The axe—the knife—the bubbling pot—
Well no, perhaps I'd better not.
And Robert—did he stay a poor
And broken-hearted bachelor,
And round the farmyard weeping go
For little Henrietta? No!
Forsaking promiscuity
With pitiless alacrity.
On matrimonial ventures he
Embarked with Miss Penelope!

R.L.M.