A farmer once lived in the land of Pope Figs, On whom Satan thought proper to play off some rigs;
But then Satan was green, you must know, For a bargain he made: that when harvest came round, The farmer should have all the grain above ground, And the Devil should have all below.
So the farm it was sown, and in due time it was reaped, The farmer disposed of his crop, and he leaped With joy, as he counted the tin;
Then the Devil he grubbed up the seeds in the soil, And he found them all rotten — his share of the spoil Had been dear at a quartern of gin!
Enraged, quoth Dan Satan, "Next year, my old love,
"You shall have all below, and I'll have all above;"
Quoth the farmer, — "Agreed," — (mighty civil,) So he sowed all his fields full of carrots, not grain, And at harvest he booked all the profits again, And took a long "sight" at the Devil.
Then his Highness began to look blacker than black, And, said he, "though I'm off, in a week I'll be back,
"And then, farmer, we'll have a 'set-to,' "When, if claws are worth twopence, just look to your hide."
"I'll be happy to see you," the farmer replied;
And touching his castor — withdrew.
But, in spite of big words, he was frightened, because He knew that his nails were no match for long claws, Hoofs, horns, and a breath of blue flame;
So, in utter dismay, he fell scratching his crown;
When, scratching his horns reminded the clown, To seek the advice of his dame.
The case being stated, the wife answered, "Pooh!
"I'll manage it for you; I'll soon get you through;
"Be cheered, my dear husband; be bold."
He felt cheered, and he gave her a kiss, chaste and kind, If he did nothing more, you will please bear in mind, That the dame was some sixty years old.
On the morning appointed Old Beelzebub came;
His heart full of wrath, and his mouth full of flame, And he stamped and he roared like a brick.
So the dame popped her spouse through a little back door, And laid herself down full length on the floor, And so waited, to welcome Old Nick!
What a howl she set up at the demon's entree!
How she wreathed, and contorted, as prostrate she lay!
"What's the row?" quoth the Prince of the Air.
"Oh! Lord, can you catch him? Which way did he run?
"I'm ruined! I'm killed! — I shall die! — I'm undone!
"Oh! good Sir Devil! I pray you beware!
"Beware of my husband! He told me a match "Had been made 'twixt you for a battle at scratch,
"And to try his vile talons he prayed "That I'd just let him touch (here she fiddled her clothes) "With the least of his fingers between my great toes,
"And, see — what a gash he has made!"
There's a tale that Miss Menkin (I think) said one season,
"I can't think to-night what the deuce is the reason,
"That my 'posing the pit so bewitches!
"They seem nearly mad!" — "Well," said Smith, "I'm afraid,
"You're hardly aware what to-night you've displayed,
"You have got a great slit in your breeches!"
What Miss Adah revealed, I can't venture to guess;
And, whoever the question more closely should press, Most richly deserves to be coked;
But, 'twas something like something the dame must have shewn, For he'd scarcely espied it, when — uttering a groan,
"Oh! Lord!" quoth the Devil, and bolted.