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The Pilgrims And The Peas
by Peter Pindar aka John Wolcot
A brace of sinners, for no good,
Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine,
Who at Lorreto dwelt in wax, stone, wood,
And in curled white wig look'd wondrous fine.
Fifty long miles had these sad rogues to travel,
with something in their shoes much worse than gravel,
In short their toes so gentle to amuse, The priest had ordered peas into
their shoes:
A nostum famous in old popish times
For purifying souls deep shrunk in crimes:
A sort of apostolic salt,
That popish parsons for its powers exalt,
For keeping sinners sweet,
Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.
The knaves set off on the same day,
Peas in their shoes to go and pray:
But very different was their speed I wot:
One of the sinners gallop'd on
Just as a bullet from a gun:
The other limped as if he had been shot.
Now the Virgin soon peccavi cried,
The swift one's soul whitewash'd all so clever
Towards home again he nimbly hied.
Knowing with saints above he'd live forever.
In coming back however, let me say.
He met his brother rogue about halfway
Hobbling with outstretched hands and bending knees
Cursing the souls and bodies of the peas,
His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat
Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.
"How now!" the light-toed,whitewash'd pilgrim broke,
"You lazy lubber!"-
"You see it!" cried the other;"'tis no joke;
My feet. once hard as any rock,
Are now as soft as blubber.
But brother sinner, do explain
How tis you are not in pain
What power hath work'd a wonder for your toes,
Whilst I, just like a snail am crawling,
Now groaning, now on saints devoutly bawling,
whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes?
"How is't that you can like a greyhound go,
Merry as if nought had happened burn ye?"
"Why," cried the other, grinning, "you must know,
That just before I ventured on my journey,
To walk a little more at ease,
I took the liberty to BOIL MY PEAS!
---(Can't you just feel it-Ma Cinzie)
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