There was an old woman, as I’ve heard say,
Who owned but a single goose.
And the dame lived over toward Truxton way,
And the animal ran at loose.
It cackled up and it cackled down,
Disturbing the peace of all the town:
Gentle and simple, knight and clown,
From the dawn to the close of the day.
Another old woman, of not much note,
Lived over toward Truxton way,
Who owned a goat with a shaggy black coat,
As I’ve heard the neighbours say.
And it was the fear of one and all;
Butting the great, butting the small,–
No matter whom,–who happened to fall
In the way of this evil goat.
Said the first old woman, “This ugly goat
Should never thus run at loose.”
Said the second, “I wish they’d cut the throat
Of that noisy cackling goose.”
And so it happened when e’er that they
Would meet each other upon the way
They’d bicker and hicker the livelong day
In the key of a scolding note.
But all the neighbours, great and small,
Complained of both with grievous tone.
From which I gather that we all
See other’s faults and not our own.