“I’ll tell thee everything I can;
There’s little to relate.
I saw ’n aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
’Who are you, aged man?’ I said.
’And how is it you live?’
And his answer trickled through my head
Like water through a sieve.
He said ’I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men,’ he said,
’Who sail on stormy seas;
And that’s the way I get my bread —
A trifle, if you please.’
But I was thinking of a plan
To dye one’s whiskers green,
And always use so large a fan
That they could not be seen.
So, having no reply to give
To what the old man said,
I cried ’Come, tell me how you live!’
And thumped him on the head.
His accents mild took up the tale:
He said, ’I go my ways,
And when I find a mountain-rill,
I set it in a blaze;
And thence they make a stuff they call
Rowland’s Macassar Oil —
Yet twopence-halfpenny is all,
They give me for my toil.’
But I was thinking of a way
To feed oneself on batter,
And so go on from day to day
Getting a little fatter.
I shook him well from side to side,
Until his face was blue:
’Come, tell me how you live,’ I cried,
’And what it is you do.!’
He said ’I hunt for haddock eyes
Among the heather bright,
And work them into waistcoat-buttons
In the silent night.
And these I do not sell for gold
or coin of silvery shine,
but for a copper halfpenny,
And that will purchase nine.
’I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search the grassy knolls
For wheels of hansom-cabs.
And that’s the way’ (he gave a wink)
By which I get my wealth —
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour’s noble health.’
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.
And now, if e’er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
A very heavy weight,
I weep,for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know —
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
As if his mouth were full of dough,
That summer evening long ago
A sitting on a gate”
As the Knight sang the last words of the ballad he gathered up the reins, and turned his horse’s head along the road by which they had come. “You’ve only a few yards to go,” he said, “down the hill and over that little brook and then you’ll be a Queen — but you’ll stay and see me off first?” he added as Alice turned away with an eager look. “I shan’t be long. You’ll wait and wave your handkerchief when I get to that turn in the road? I think it’ll encourage me, you see.”
“Of course I’ll wait,” said Alice: “and thank you very much for coming so far — and for the song — I liked it very much.”
“I hope so,” the Knight said doubtfully: “but you didn’t cry so much as I expected.”
So they shook hands, and then the Knight rode slowly away into the forest. “It won”t take long to see him off, I expect,” Alice said to herself, as she stood watching him. “There he goes! Right on his head as usual! However, he gets on again pretty easily — that comes of having so many things hung round the horse — -” So she went on talking to herself, as she watched the horse walking leisurely along the road, and the Knight tumbling off, first on one side and then on the other. After the fourth or fifth tumble he reached the turn, and then she waved her handkerchief to him, and waited till he was out of sight.