Poll’s Mistress

I’ve heard of imp, I’ve heard of sprite; Of fays and fairies of the night; Of that renowned fiend Hobgoblin, Running, racing, jumping, hobbling; Of Puck, brimful of fun; also Of roguish Robin Goodfellow. I’ve seen a hearth where, as is told, Came Hobthrush in the days of old, To make the butter, mend the linen, And keep the housewife’s wheel a-spinning. I’ve heard of pigmies, pixies, lares, Shoirim, gemedim, and fairies:— And, Parrot, on my honest word, I hardly think thou art a bird;— Thou art so pixy, quaint and queer; Thou art not canny, Poll, I fear! Look at that impish leer of thine! List to thy scream, thy shout, thy whine, And none will doubt but thou must be A creature of the faery. Or tell me, Poll, art thou not kin To Jack o’ lanthern? Come, begin! Answer me, Poll, was’t ’mong the fairies Thou learnt thy many strange vagaries? Speak, pretty Poll!