“Where is the pumps?” cried Mrs. Jones,
“Where is the pumps, I say?
They can't be lost; and, by the bones!
I'll have them found to-day.

“There is but three beneath the roof,
That's master, you, and I;—
How they has walked I'll have good proof,
Or know the reason why.

“Your master wore them this day week;
You knows he did, you jade!
That you're a thief, albeit so meek,
In truth I'm half afraid.

“Don't answer me, you saucy minx!
You're lazy as you're long;
At thousands of your faults I winks,
Although I knows 'tis wrong.

“You looks the baker in the face,
When he comes with the bread;
You trims your cap with shilling lace,
And flirts with Butcher Ned.

“You acts as though you thought yourself
The fairest of the fair;
And seems to think that master's pelf
You're qualified to share.

“Now don't deny it—hussy, don't!
For I has watched you long;
But I can tell you, Miss, you won't
Win master with a song.

“In vain at him you sets your cap;
He's not the sort of man;
With all your ogles bait your trap,
And catch him if you can!

“Beneath his roof, for fifteen years,
Housekeeper I have been;
I cares not if my speech he hears—
No wrong in me he's seen.

“I slaves like any Trojan Turk;
I makes his bed and mine;
While you, you hussy! does no work,
And yet you dares repine!

“Why don't you take a pattern by
Your master, slut, and me?
We never thinks a thought awry,—
There is but few like we!

“The pumps was worn but this day week;
You knows they were, you jade!
That you're a thief, albeit so meek,
In truth I'm half afraid.

“You stands accused of stealing them—
A very naughty sin;
And if you're hoity-toity, Me'em,
I'll call the neighbours in!”

And hoity-toity Kitty was,
She didn't care a pin!
Says Mistress Jones, “I vow, that's poz!
I'll have the neighbours in!”

And in she call'd them one by one,
By two, and three, and four;
Such lots came in to see the fan,
The house could hold no more.

“Oh! what's the matter?” quoth they all,
“And what is here amiss?”
Says Mrs. Jones, “Pray don't you bawl;
My friends, the case is this:—

“I keeps my master's house; and he,
Good soul! is half afraid,
That spite of all precaution, we
Is robb'd by Kate, our maid.

“Of all the lazy, idle drones
That ever yet I knew,
Not one could match,” says Mrs. Jones,
“The girl you have in view.

“In all the house three beds we makes,
For master, she, and me;
Both master's and my own I takes,
She does but one of three.

“And though she grumbles,—yes, indeed,—
That she is worked too much;
Yet she can oft her novels read,
Ay, and the likes of such.

“She won't by me a pattern take,
Although full well she knows,
In books 'tis said, 'the wayward rake
Contemns the gather'd rose.'

“I've lost a pair of stockings, and
About a week ago,
I'd master's pumps in this here hand,
A-looking at'em so.

“I hung'em up upon the pegs,
I recollects it well;
How they has walked without their legs,
Miss Kate, perhaps, can tell.”

“False Mrs. Jones!” young Kate replies,
As forward now she jumps;
“She would not ask, were she but wise,
If I had stol'n the pumps.

“There is but three beds in the house,
And Mrs. Jones makes two;
We haven't room to stow a mouse;—
So far her story 's true.

“She brags about her virtue, but
She's got a silly head;
A week ago, the pumps
I put In Mrs, Jones's bed!”