96
The maid first looked sad, and then looked cross,
Gave her foot a fling, and her head a toss;
"Say you so, indeed,
You mean little weed?
You're shut up for spite,
For the blue sky is bright;
To more credulous people your warnings tell,
I'll away to the fair—good day, Pimpernel.
Stay at home, quoth the flower!—in sooth, not I,
I'll don my straw hat with a silken tie;
O'er my neck so fair
I'll a kerchief wear,
White, chequer'd with pink;
And then—let me think,
I'll consider my gown—for I'd fain look well:"
So saying, she stepped o'er the Pimpernel.
Now the wise little flower, wrapped safe from harm,
Sat fearlessly waiting the coming storm;
Just peeping between
Her snug cloak of green,
Lay folded up tight
Her red robe so bright,
Though broidered with purple, and starred with gold,
No eye might its bravery then behold.
