Though she was only a shepherdess,
Tending the meekest of sheep,
Never was African leopardess
Crosser than Little Bow Peep:
Quite apathetic, impassible
People described her as: “That
Wayward, contentious, irascible,
Testy, cantankerous brat!”
Yet, as she dozed in a grotto-like
Sort of kind of a nook,
She was charmingly Watteau-like,
What with her sheep and her crook;
“She is a dryad or nymph,” any
Casual passer would think.
Poets pronounced her a symphony,
All in the palest of pink.
Thus it was not enigmatical,
That the young shepherd who first
Found her asleep, in ecstatical
Sighs of felicity burst:
Such was his sudden beatitude
That, as he gazed at her so,
Daphnis gave vent to this platitude:
“My! Ain’t she elegant though!”
Roused from some dream of Arcadia,
Little Bow Peep with a start
Answered him: “I ain’t afraid o’ yer!
P’raps you imagine you’re smart!”
Daphnis protested impulsively,
Blushing as red as a rose;
All was in vain. She convulsively
Punched the young man in the nose!
All of it’s true, every word of it!
I was not present to peep,
But if you ask how I heard of it,
Please to remember the sheep.
There is no need of excuse. You will
See how such scandals occur:
If you recall Mother Goose, you will
Know what tail-bearers they were!
Moral: This pair irreclaimable
Might have made Seraphim weep,
But who can pick the most blamable?
Both saw a little beau peep!