All place names & the character of Farmer Maggot are copyright J. R. R Tolkien & The Tolkien Estate
The Farmer and the Goblin
There's an old lost well,
In a Woody End dell,
With a short stone wall around.
And you'll hear a plop,
If a pebble you drop,
Sound deep down underground.
Now in this well,
So some would tell,
There lives a wicked goblin.
His name is Jack,
And he'll shout back,
If pebble you should lob in;
'I'll take your life,
With my crooked knife,
Just as soon as I climb up there.'
Up the wall he'll splash,
As his teeth they'll gnash,
Whilst his squint eyes bulge and stare.
Then his splintered claws,
At the stones will gnaw,
As he scrambles up the round.
If you're smart you'll run,
When you hear him come,
Long before he makes the ground.
I've heard one day,
Going round that way,
Young Maggot he was rambling.
Passing through that dell,
He came upon said well,
On the path where he was ambling.
'Here's a thing!' he thought,
And a stone he sought,
Just as you or I would.
Spying out the land,
And finding none at hand,
He did the only thing that he could.
From the wall he prised,
A stone of quite some size,
And straining, tipped it in.
With a rush it fell,
Down the dank dark well,
And the 'splosh' made quite a din.
Then to his surprise,
Came a torrent of cries,
Most of them being quite crude.
'No need to cuss,
Who makes such fuss?'
Says he, 'How very rude!'
'You'll rue the day,
That you came this way,'
Snarled a voice from out the dark.
'Tipping rocks on folk!
My head is nearly broke,
And all done for a lark!'
Then a scratching sound,
From beneath the ground,
Signalled old Jack Hob was climbing.
'When I reach the top,
Head from neck I'll lop,
And on your meat be dining!'
But the Farmer's son,
He would not run,
And with fists on hips he waited.
Till at last that goblin,
From the rim came hobblin',
Into sunlight, which he hated.
'What have I found,
All short and round?'
Sneered the gnarled sprite.
'I may be stout,
But you'll find my clout,
Puts you out like a light!'
So quoth our fellow,
With such a bellow,
That it set Jack Hob a quaking.
With a booming laugh,
Maggot shook his staff,
Jack's bones intent on breaking.
'Stay your hand, kind sir',
Moaned the snivelling curr,
That Jack had now become.
'I meant no harm'
Says he with fawning charm,
As he cringes 'neath the sun.
'There's no good reason,
Any season,
Why I shouldn't smite thee hard.'
Said Hobbit bold,
His foe to scold,
Making Jack jump back a yard.
'Sir Half-pint brave,
If my life you save,
I'll give you reason fine.'
Said Jack 'I'll tell,
Of things fair and fell,
Ever since the dawn of time.'
Young Maggot scoffed,
Holding staff aloft,
Saying 'What know you of such?
I'd learn more lore,
From a piglet's snore,
Or from a rabbit in a hutch!'
'Not so,' snapped Jack,
Quite taken aback,
By his discouteous foe.
'All the world was night,
Under dim starlight,
Ten thousand year ago.
Content was I,
'Neath the soft dark sky,
And happy were my folk,
Then the huntsman came,
With terrible mien,
And apart the kindred broke.
In the woods we hid,
Until we were rid,
Of that blower of the horn.
But not long after,
Came the Master,
From whose hands we were reborn.'
Words trailed away,
No more he'd say,
Of long lost tales of woe.
Maggot looked around,
First up, then down,
A'thinking he should go.
Then 'Look,' says he,
'If safe you be,
Will you tell me more amorrow?'
'I will.' says Jack,
As he crawled back,
To his well, all filled with sorrow.
For many a day,
Maggot walked that way,
And spoke at length with Jack.
He learned of years gone by,
Under starlit skies,
Elder Days that won't come back.
He learned ancient songs,
Of ages gone,
Of battles and of burning.
Of how Jack waits,
Near the outer gates,
Till his Master is returning.
Long are the days,
Dark are evil's ways,
But Jack still counts the years.
In that secret dell,
Down that dank dark well,
He counts them with his tears.