But the Tailor’s front garden grow two cabbages, a dock, a ha’porth of pennyroyal, two dandelions, and a thistle. There are three small orchards--Mr. Busby’s the schoolmaster’s is the chief-- With two pear-trees that don’t bear; one plum and an apple, that every year is stripp’d by a thief. There’s another small day-school too, kept by the respectable Mrs. Gaby; A select establishment, for six little boys and one big, and four little girls and a baby. There’s a rectory, with pointed gables and strange old chimneys that never smokes, For the rector don’t live on his living like other Christian sort of folks; There’s a barber’s once a week well filled with rough black-bearded shock-headed churls, And a window with two feminine men’s heads, and two masculine ladies in false curls; There’s a butcher’s and a carpenter’s and a plumber’s and a small green-grocer’s, and a baker But he won’t bake on a Sunday, and there’s a sexton that’s a coal-merchant besides, and an undertaker; And a toy-shop, but not a whole one, for a village can’t compare with the London shops; One window sells drums, dolls, kites, carts, bats, Clout’s balls, and the other sells malt and hops. And Mrs. Brown, in domestic economy not to be a bit behind her betters, Lets her house to a milliner, a watchmaker, a rat-catcher, a cobbler, lives in it herself, and it’s the post-office for letters. Now I’ve gone through all the village--ay, from end to end, save and except one more house, But I haven’t come to that--and I hope I never shall--and that’s the Village Poor-House! PAIR’D _NOT_ MATCH’D. Of wedded bliss Bards sing amiss, I cannot make a song of it; For I am small, My wife is tall, And that’s the short and long of it. When we debate It is my fate To always have the wrong of it; For I am small, And she is tall, And that’s the short and long of it! And when I speak My voice is weak, But hers--she makes a gong of it! For I am small, And she is tall, And that’s the short and long of it! She has, in brief, Command in Chief, And I’m but Aide-de-camp of it; For I am small, And she is tall, And that’s the short and long of it! She gives to me The weakest tea, And takes the whole Souchong of it; For I am small, And she is tall, And that’s the short and long of it! She’ll sometimes grip My buggy whip, And make me feel the thong of it; For I am small And she is tall, And that’s the short and long of it! Against my life She’ll take a knife, Or fork, and dart the prong of it; For I am small, And she is tall, And that’s the short and long of it!