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And of Cock Robin again, no
less captivating has been the ballad celebrating his wedding with little
Jenny Wren. Though why with a lady of the Wren family, must always
strike naturalists as an absurdity and, I suppose. we may not ask how it
was the banns were not forbidden, since the Messrs. Wren, with the
children, and the whole creation of bird, with the single exception of a
blackguard cuckoo—have jubilantly acquiesced in the nuptials.
It was a merry time,
When Jenny Wren was young,
So neatly as she dressed,
And so sweetly as she sung.
Robin Redbreast lost his
heart,
He was a gallant bird;
He doffed his hat to Jenny,
And thus to her he said:
"My dearest Jenny Wren,
If you will but be mine,
You shall dine on cherry pie
And drink nice currant wine.
"I'll dress you like a
goldfinch,
Or like a peacock gay:
So, if you'll have me, Jenny,
Let its appoint the day.''
Jenny blushed behind her
fan,
And thus declared her mind
"Then let it be to-morrow, Bob
I take your offer kind.
"Cherry pie is very good,
So is currant wine;
But I'll wear my russet gown
And never dress too fine."
Robin rose up early,
At the break of day;
He flew to Jenny Wren's house
To sing a roundelay.
He met the Cock and Hen,
And bade the Cock declare
This was his wedding day
With Jenny Wren the fair.
The Cock then blew his
horn,
To let the neighbours know
This was Robin's wedding day,
And they might see the show.
Then followed him the
Lark,
For he could sweetly sing.
And he was to be the clerk
At Cock Robin's wedding.
He sang of Robin's love
For little Jenny Wren
And when he came unto the end,
Then he begin again.
At first came Parson Rook,
With his spectacles and band
And one of Mother Hubbard's books
He held within his hand.
The Goldfinch cause on
next,
To give away the bride
The Linnet, being bridesmaid.
Walked by Jenny's side;
And as she was a-walking,
Said, "Upon my word,
I think that your Cock Robin
Is a very pretty bird."
The Blackbird and the
Thrush,
And charming Nightingale,
Whose sweet songs sweetly echo
Through every grove and dale.
The Sparrow and the
Tomtit,
And many more were there
All came to see the wedding
Of Jenny Wren the fair.
The Bullfinch walked by
Robin,
And thus to them did say:
"Pray mark, friend Robin Redbreast,
That Goldfinch dressed so gay;
"That though her gay
apparel
Becomes her very well,
Yet Jenny's modest dress and look
Must bear away the bell."
Then came the bride and
bridegroom
Quite plainly was she dressed,
And blushed so munch, her cheeks were
As red as Robin's breast.
Rut Robin cheered her up
"My pretty Jen," says he,
We're going to be married,
And happy we shall be."
"Oh,'' then says Parson
Rook,
"Who gives this maid away?"
"I do," says the Goldfinch,
"And her fortune I will pay:
"Here's a bag of grain of
marry sorts,
And other things beside;
Now happy be the bridegroom.
And happy be the bride!"
"And you will have her,
Robin,
To be your wedded wife?
Yes, I will,'' says Robin,
"And love her all my life!"
"And you will have him
Jenny,
Your husband now to be?"
"Yes, I will," says Jenny,
"And love him heartily.''
Then on her finger fair
Cock Robin put the ring;
"You're married now,'' says Parson Rook,
While the lark aloud did sing;
"Happy be the bridegroom,
And happy be the bride
And may not man, nor bird, nor beast,
This happy pair divide!"
The birds were asked to
dine
Not Jenny's friends alone,
But every pretty songster
That had Cock Robin known.
They had a cherry pie,
Besides some currant wine,
And every guest brought something,
That sumptuous they might dine.
Now they all sat or stood,
To eat and to drink;
And every one said what
He happened to think.
They each took a bumper,
And drank to the lair;
Cock Robin the bridegroom,
And Jenny the fair.
The dinner-things removed,
They all began to sing;
And soon they made the place
For a mile around to ring.
The concert it was fine,
And every birdie tried
Who best should sing for Robin
And Jenny Wren the bride.
When in came the Cuckoo,
And made a great rout
He caught hold of Jenny,
And pulled her about.
Cock Robin was angry,
And so was the Sparrow,
Who fetched in a hurry
His bow and his arrow.
His aim then he took,
But he took it not right,
His skill was not good,
Or he shot in a fright.
For the Cuckoo he missed,
But Cock Robin he killed
And all the birds mourned
That his blood was so spilled. |
