Dick’s whole estate.NOW when the merchant gave to DickThat kitten for his own,No thing he had alive or deadOn earth save it alone.His regret at its loss;And so enamour’d had he grownOf this his property,That sooth his heart did sorely smartWhen Puss was sent to sea.His melancholy vein,Then all was lonely as before;Again he rued his plight:He moped in solitude all day,And lay awake all night.and wayward fancy.So dismal and so desolateThe granary now it seem’d,He long’d in the green fields to be,And where the sunshine gleam’d.He deserts his trust,Alas! how weak our nature isIts cravings to resist:For Dick betray’d his master’s trustTo follow his own list.and wanders into the fields.He stroll’d abroad into the fields,He knew not where nor why;Regardless of his duty quiteAbout the granary.The Lord Mayor’s day.Now as it chanced the new Lord MayorOf London, that same day,To meet the king at WestminsterIn state had ta’en his way.Bow bellsWith such a charge the city-bargeDid proudly flaunt along:And the bells of Bow were nothing slowTo greet him with—ding, dong.heard by Dick.While truant Dick all sad and sickWas wandering in despair,Hark! hark! the music of Bow-bellsCame wafted on the air.What they seemed to say.They seem’d to say—Turn Whit-ting-ton:Again turn Whit-ting-ton:And when he listen’d still, they said—Lord May-or of Lon-don.Again he heard the self-same wordsRepeated by the chimes;Yet trusted not, till he had heardThe same an hundred times.His repentance and return.“It must be so: and I will goBack to my granary.Oh shame! to be so false while heWas true and kind to me.”He turn’d, and reach’d the granaryBefore the fall of day:And not a living soul e’er knewThat he had run away.his good resolves,This foolish prank he sorely rued;But now that it was o’er,And he all right again, he vow’dHe ne’er would do so more.rewarded by peace of mind.And so that night in peace he slept,And so to joy he rose:But while he slept, he thought he trodUpon the Lord Mayor’s toes.His prophetic dream.Patience—patience! my little boy;Take heed to save your skin:The Lord Mayor is a portly man,And thou but small and thin.Beware of cage, beware of catThat tails hath three times three:For he may strip, and he may whip,And he may ’mprison thee.All in his sleep this sage adviceSeem’d whisper’d to his ear:Nathless right on the Lord Mayor’s toeHe stood withouten fear.A visiterAgain the day had pass’d away,And night was creeping o’er,When such a knock as mote him shockWas thunder’d at his door.brings tidings of his luck.“Hallo! hallo! why batter so?”In trembling voice he sung:Whereat wide-open flew the door,And in the Captain sprung.“Good luck, good luck! my jolly buck!Why whimper there and whine?Cheer up now Maister Whittington,For—all the cargo’s thine.”His incredulity.But Dick was so much used to woe,He dared not trust on weal:Nor had he zest to point a jestTo rouse the sailor’s peal.The congratulations of the household.Till soon the household made awareCame rattling at the door,And greeted Maister Whittington,Who was poor Dick before.They led him forth a man of worth,And humbly call’d himSire;And placed him in a huge arm-chairBefore the merchant’s fire.The good man heard the rumour’d wordAnd eke his daughter fair;And both ran straight to where he sateAll in this huge arm-chair.’Twas then the merchant laugh’d aloud,And then the maiden smiled:And then the servants bow’d to himThey had before reviled.The virtue of riches.For Poverty may blameless be,Yet is an unblest thing;And wealth, for all that good men preach,Doth sure obeisance bring.This truth found Dick, who grew full quickInto an honour’d man;Yet was he loth to let his luckAbide where it began.His active industry,So join’d he jolly venturersIn every good emprise;It was no niggard share he stakedIn all their argosies.rewarded.All lucky he came off at sea;But luckier far on land,Whenas the merchant’s daughter fairGave him her heart and hand.His honours.Next he became an Alderman,And Lord Mayor before long:And then—oh! how the bells of BowDid greet him withding-dong.E’en on that day they seem’d to sayLord May-or of Lon-don:But when he listen’d still they saidSir Rich-ard Whit-ting-ton.His charity.Then thought he on the luckless ladThat swept the granary floor;Nor ever in the pride of wealthDid he forget the poor.And so God save our good Lord Mayor,And give him wealth and wit:But never let a prentice-ladDick Whittington forget.
Dick’s whole estate.
NOW when the merchant gave to Dick
That kitten for his own,
No thing he had alive or dead
On earth save it alone.
His regret at its loss;
And so enamour’d had he grown
Of this his property,
That sooth his heart did sorely smart
When Puss was sent to sea.
His melancholy vein,
Then all was lonely as before;
Again he rued his plight:
He moped in solitude all day,
And lay awake all night.
and wayward fancy.
So dismal and so desolate
The granary now it seem’d,
He long’d in the green fields to be,
And where the sunshine gleam’d.
He deserts his trust,
Alas! how weak our nature is
Its cravings to resist:
For Dick betray’d his master’s trust
To follow his own list.
and wanders into the fields.
He stroll’d abroad into the fields,
He knew not where nor why;
Regardless of his duty quite
About the granary.
The Lord Mayor’s day.
Now as it chanced the new Lord Mayor
Of London, that same day,
To meet the king at Westminster
In state had ta’en his way.
Bow bells
With such a charge the city-barge
Did proudly flaunt along:
And the bells of Bow were nothing slow
To greet him with—ding, dong.
heard by Dick.
While truant Dick all sad and sick
Was wandering in despair,
Hark! hark! the music of Bow-bells
Came wafted on the air.
What they seemed to say.
They seem’d to say—Turn Whit-ting-ton:
Again turn Whit-ting-ton:
And when he listen’d still, they said—
Lord May-or of Lon-don.
Again he heard the self-same words
Repeated by the chimes;
Yet trusted not, till he had heard
The same an hundred times.
His repentance and return.
“It must be so: and I will go
Back to my granary.
Oh shame! to be so false while he
Was true and kind to me.”
He turn’d, and reach’d the granary
Before the fall of day:
And not a living soul e’er knew
That he had run away.
his good resolves,
This foolish prank he sorely rued;
But now that it was o’er,
And he all right again, he vow’d
He ne’er would do so more.
rewarded by peace of mind.
And so that night in peace he slept,
And so to joy he rose:
But while he slept, he thought he trod
Upon the Lord Mayor’s toes.
His prophetic dream.
Patience—patience! my little boy;
Take heed to save your skin:
The Lord Mayor is a portly man,
And thou but small and thin.
Beware of cage, beware of cat
That tails hath three times three:
For he may strip, and he may whip,
And he may ’mprison thee.
All in his sleep this sage advice
Seem’d whisper’d to his ear:
Nathless right on the Lord Mayor’s toe
He stood withouten fear.
A visiter
Again the day had pass’d away,
And night was creeping o’er,
When such a knock as mote him shock
Was thunder’d at his door.
brings tidings of his luck.
“Hallo! hallo! why batter so?”
In trembling voice he sung:
Whereat wide-open flew the door,
And in the Captain sprung.
“Good luck, good luck! my jolly buck!
Why whimper there and whine?
Cheer up now Maister Whittington,
For—all the cargo’s thine.”
His incredulity.
But Dick was so much used to woe,
He dared not trust on weal:
Nor had he zest to point a jest
To rouse the sailor’s peal.
The congratulations of the household.
Till soon the household made aware
Came rattling at the door,
And greeted Maister Whittington,
Who was poor Dick before.
They led him forth a man of worth,
And humbly call’d himSire;
And placed him in a huge arm-chair
Before the merchant’s fire.
The good man heard the rumour’d word
And eke his daughter fair;
And both ran straight to where he sate
All in this huge arm-chair.
’Twas then the merchant laugh’d aloud,
And then the maiden smiled:
And then the servants bow’d to him
They had before reviled.
The virtue of riches.
For Poverty may blameless be,
Yet is an unblest thing;
And wealth, for all that good men preach,
Doth sure obeisance bring.
This truth found Dick, who grew full quick
Into an honour’d man;
Yet was he loth to let his luck
Abide where it began.
His active industry,
So join’d he jolly venturers
In every good emprise;
It was no niggard share he staked
In all their argosies.
rewarded.
All lucky he came off at sea;
But luckier far on land,
Whenas the merchant’s daughter fair
Gave him her heart and hand.
His honours.
Next he became an Alderman,
And Lord Mayor before long:
And then—oh! how the bells of Bow
Did greet him withding-dong.
E’en on that day they seem’d to say
Lord May-or of Lon-don:
But when he listen’d still they said
Sir Rich-ard Whit-ting-ton.
His charity.
Then thought he on the luckless lad
That swept the granary floor;
Nor ever in the pride of wealth
Did he forget the poor.
And so God save our good Lord Mayor,
And give him wealth and wit:
But never let a prentice-lad
Dick Whittington forget.