Mother Goose for Grown-ups

His mind made up, he followed it,
Relying on his native wit,
And soon had wandered, bit by bit,
Through all his master's mansion.

"At least," he said: "It's not my fault
If everything's not seen to:
I've gone from garret down to vault,
And glanced into the lean-to.
In every room I've chanced to stop;
A supervising glance to drop,
I've looked below, I've looked on top,
Behind, and in between, too!"

One thing alone he found to blame,
As thus his time he squandered,
For, seeing not the farmer's dame,
Into her room he wandered,
And mounting nimbly on the bed:
"Why, bless my careful soul!" he said:
"These pillows are as hard as lead.
Now, how comes that?" he pondered.

The farmer's dame for half an hour
Had watched the bird meander,
And finding him within her power,
She leaped upon the gander.
"Why, how de do, my gander coy?"
She shouted: "What will be my joy
To dream to-night on you, my boy!"
(This was no baseless slander.)

For with a stoutish piece of string
Securely was this fool tied,
And by a leg and by a wing
Unto an oaken stool tied:
While, pinning towels around her gown,
She plucked him with relentless frown,
And stuffed the pillows with his down,
And roasted him for Yuletide.

The moral is: When you explore
Don't try to be superior:
Be cautious, and retire before
Your safety grows inferior.
'Tis best to stay upon the coast,
Or some day you will be like most
Of all that bold exploring host
That's gone to the interior.

THE END