by B. L. Bowers
Whilst we sit around the
table,
Please allow me to relate,
The entrancing ancient fable
Of "The Willow Pattern Plate."
Every picture tells a
story,
Like the Willow Pattern Plate,
Where two lovers dwelt in glory,
And defied paternal hate.
By elopement from the
castle
You observe upon the ridge,
Where the violent old rascal
Chases them across the bridge.
Tries to catch the rogue
and whip him,
'Ere he steals the daughter fair;
But the loving pair outstrip him,
Let him languish in despair.
Thrown upon their own
resources,
In a junk they emigrate,
To a splendid little oasis,
Near the margin of the plate.
Dwell in peace, whilst
unmolested,
In most perfect harmony;
Till at length they are arrested,
by his Nibs' gendarmerie.
Then the tyrant lord
appeals to
Law and lucre, with their pow'r;
Caught, confined, they have their meals too,
In that horrid little tow'r.
When the pair are
executed,
To appease their lord irate,
To a pair of doves transmuted,
Still they fly upon the plate.
Every picture tells a
story,
Like the Willow Pattern blue,
And true love will reign in glory,
To infinity! Adieu
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