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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE VICAR'S WIFE AND THE FAUN, by MARGARET SACKVILLE Poet's Biography
First Line: The bend of a green lane on a spring morning
Last Line: (he leaps off.)
Subject(s): Conversation
First Line: The bend of a green lane on a spring morning
Last Line: (he leaps off.)
Subject(s): Conversation
SCENE.—The bend of a green lane on a Spring morning. The faun is seated
under the hedge. The Vicar's wife comes upon him suddenly.
THE FAUN (cheerily).
Hello!
THE VICAR'S WIFE.
Oh! Mercy!—Heavens!
THE FAUN.
How d'y do?
THE VICAR'S WIFE.
But in the name of goodness what are you?
THE FAUN.
A faun.
THE VICAR'S WIFE.
A what?
THE FAUN.
A faun—you surely know
What a faun is.
How dare you answer so—
It's most impertinent! Tell me pigs have wings!—
Fauns were invented by the Greeks, poor things,
Who knew no better. You're some gipsy lad
Either extremely wicked or quite mad—
I'll call the Vicar.
THE FAUN.
Vicar?—What is that?
Is it a man, a monkey or a cat?
Something that bites or growls or stings or barks?
THE VICAR'S WIFE (to herself—indignantly).
It's what I've said a thousand times—the Park's
Too loosely kept. Anyone can get in.
Lord Edmund must be told. It's quite a sin
To keep old Johnson on—he's past his job.
And as for you—you're either here to rob
Or else your wits are hopelessly astray,
But when the Vicar comes——
THE FAUN.
But you won't say
What sort of thing a Vicar is.
THE VICAR'S WIFE.
He will
Know how to deal with you. Where did you steal
That fur upon your legs? It's worth a lot—
(Much better than the Russian wolf I've got)
Unless it's imitation... Well, perhaps
We won't be hard on you for this one lapse—
Poor boy! you can't have known a mother's care,
So much may be forgiven.
THE FAUN (indignantly).
It's my hair!
No other faun has hair so fine and long
So wavy too, and thick, and you're quite wrong
About my mother—wrong as you can be!
My mother was a goat—
THE VICAR'S WIFE.
But gracious me
The boy is mad!
(She departs hurriedly).
THE FAUN.
Oh! please don't run away.
Or if you really must, I wish you'd say
What Vicars are. Oh! dearie me, she's gone
And I am left to find out all alone.
I'm sure the other fauns won't know or tell
Even if they do. It's a great bore. Ah well!
Perhaps she made it up. They don't exist,
They're myths ... and yet I wish I hadn't missed
Just finding out, as certainly I should.—
—There may be vicars hiding in the wood!
(He leaps off.)
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