# The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats/A Little Extempore

A Little Extempore
Inclosed in a letter to George and Georgiana Keats, written April 15, 1819.
When they were come into the Faery's Court They rang—no one at home—all gone to sport And dance and kiss and love as faeries do For Faries be as humans lovers true. Amid the woods they were so lone and wild, Where even the Robin feels himself exil'd, And where the very brooks, as if afraid, Hurry along to some less magic shade. 'No one at home!' the fretful Princess cry'd; 'And all for nothing such a dreary ride, And all for nothing my new diamond cross; No one to see my Persian feathers toss, No one to see my Ape, my Dwarf, my Fool, Or how I pace my Otaheitan mule. Ape, Dwarf, and Fool, why stand you gaping there, Burst the door open, quick—or I declare I 'll switch you soundly and in pieces tear.' The Dwarf began to tremble, and the Ape Star'd at the Fool, the Fool was all agape, The Princess grasp'd her switch, but just in time The dwarf with piteous face began to rhyme. 'O mighty Princess, did you ne'er hear tell What your poor servants know but too too well? Know you the three great crimes in Faeryland? The first, alas! poor Dwarf, I understand, I made a whipstock of a faery's wand; The next is snoring in their company; The next, the last, the direst of the three, Is making free when they are not at home. I was a Prince—a baby prince—my doom, You see, I made a whipstock of a wand, My top has henceforth slept in faery land. He was a Prince, the Fool, a grown-up Prince, But he has never been a King's son since He fell a snoring at a faery Ball. ​Yon poor Ape was a Prince, and he poor thing Picklock'd a faery's boudoir—now no king But ape—so pray your highness stay awhile, 'T is sooth indeed, we know it to our sorrow— Persist and you may be an ape to-morrow.' While the Dwarf spake, the Princess, all for spite, Peel'd the brown hazel twig to lily white, Clench'd her small teeth, and held her lips apart, Try'd to look unconcern'd with beating heart. They saw her highness had made up her mind, A-quavering like the reeds before the wind— And they had had it, but O happy chance! The Ape for very fear began to dance And grinn'd as all his ugliness did ache— She staid her vixen fingers for his sake, He was so very ugly: then she took Her pocket-mirror and began to look First at herself and then at him, and then She smil'd at her own beauteous face again. Yet for all this—for all her pretty face— She took it in her head to see the place. Women gain little from experience Either in Lovers, husbands, or expense. The more their beauty the more fortune too— Beauty before the wide world never knew— So each fair reasons—tho' it oft miscarries. She thought her pretty face would please the fairies. 'My darling Ape, I wont whip you to-day, Give me the Picklock sirrah and go play.' They all three wept but counsel was as vain As crying cup biddy to drops of rain. Yet lingering by did the sad Ape forth draw The Picklock from the Pocket in his Jaw. The Princess took it, and dismounting straight Tripp'd in blue silver'd slippers to the gate And touch'd the wards, the Door full courteous Opened—she enter'd with her servants three. Again it clos'd and there was nothing seen But the Mule grazing on the herbage green.
End of Canto XII.
Canto the XIII
The Mule no sooner saw himself alone Than he prick'd up his Ears—and said 'well done; At least unhappy Prince I may be free— No more a Princess shall side-saddle me. O King of Otaheite—tho' a Mule, "Aye, every inch a King"—tho' "Fortune's Fool," Well done—for by what Mr. Dwarfy said I would not give a sixpence for her head.' Even as he spake he trotted in high glee To the knotty side of an old Pollard tree, And rubb'd his sides against the mossed bark Till his Girths burst and left him naked stark Except his Bridle—how get rid of that Buckled and tied with many a twist and plait. At last it struck him to pretend to sleep, And then the thievish Monkeys down would creep And filch the unpleasant trammels quite away. No sooner thought of than adown he lay, Shamm'd a good snore—the Monkey-men descended And whom they thought to injure they befriended. They hung his Bridle on a topmost bough And off he went run, trot, or anyhow—