ASTONISHMENT

 

ASTONISHMENT - A Poem

By G.S.O.

WELL, I do declare, what a terrified stare! 

What can be the matter, I say, 
That you look so amazed, with your eyebrows upraised, 

And your master's milk running away?  

O is it the rector, policeman, or spectre? 

Or is it a lad for a spree 

Got up in full fig, and a mask as a brigand? 

Or is it an owl in the tree? 

Or is it a squeak that has whitened your cheek,

 And made your hands useless with dread? 

Or the rustle of leaves in the wind by the eaves? 

Or a rat running over your head? 

Or are you afraid of a shadow that's made 

By the moon as she peeps through a chink? 

Come, hold the pan tight, or a supperless night, 

And a flogging, will greet you, I think. 

Though he walks with a swagger, a lath for a dagger, 

Jack Brown is Jack Brown, and no more; 

A goblin is nought but a fanciful thought, 

That squeak was a mouse, or a door. 

And no one need mind the stout Constable Bind, 

If he hasn't done anything ill; 

Good boys, we are told, as a lion are bold, 

When he roams the dark waste at his will. 

To the lad full of fear the hobgoblins appear, 

But the hero they never molest; 

He laughs at white sheets and such moonshine deceits, 

For he minds but his work and his rest. 

Too busy for ghosts, for his tasks come in hosts, 

And a hundred odd jobs he must do:

Too sleepy at night to lie shaking in fright, 

When the solemn old owl says, 'To-whoo! 

Come, Bobby, look up or the kittens will sup 

All the precious milk wasting away; 

Do mind what you're at, or the thanks of the cat 

Are all you will get, boy, to-day! 

         .

Boys want all their senses for tables and tenses, 

For their games and a thousand things more; 

Your wits, Bob, they dream-don t you hear the 

white stream 

As it falls with a splash on the floor?

And here I must stare like a fool, I declare! 

Only think, Mister Hunt, what you've done! 

While the world wants a book like a soft I must 

look, 

And the milk that is running, must run! 

Yes, so it must be; then take warning by me, 

Mind you always look knowing and clever, 

Be you youngsters or men, lest some Hunt come 

again, 

And make you a greenhorn for ever!  

References:

Chatterbox 1877