Cockalorum

It has been bothering me for a few days now.  I heard a song in the background somewhere and in among the lyrics was reference to "cockalorum."  

I have not heard cockalorum (a self-important little man) in several years and I am trying to place it in memory.  A poem perhaps, but which one and by whom?   A children's poem?  

Turning and turning in a widening gyre, I cannot recall and Google is not presenting helpful suggestions.  

Then it comes to me this morning, as happens, without structure and just as a flash.  It's from an old English folktale.  And indeed, it is.  It was among a well-worn set of volumes from which I read stories to the kids when they were young.  The story was apparently originally collected in English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs, published in 1898.  

And just so that I don't lose track of it again, I record here the tale of the Master of all Masters.

A girl once went to the fair to hire herself for servant. At last a funny-looking old gentleman engaged her, and took her home to his house. When she got there, he told her that he had something to teach her, for that in his house he had his own names for things.

He said to her: 'What will you call me?'

'Master or mister, or whatever you please, sir,' says she.

He said: 'You must call me "master of all masters". And what would you call this?' pointing to his bed.

'Bed or couch, or whatever you please, sir.'

'No, that's my "barnacle". And what do you call these?' said he, pointing to his pantaloons.

'Breeches or trousers, or whatever you please, sir.'

'You must call them "squibs and crackers". And what would you call her?' pointing to the cat.

'Cat or kit, or whatever you please, sir.'

'You must call her "white-faced simminy".

And this now,' showing the fire, 'what would you call this?'

'Fire or flame, or whatever you please, sir.'

'You must call it "hot cockalorum", and what this?' he went on, pointing to the water.

'Water or wet, or whatever you please, sir.'

'No, "pondalorum" is its name. And what do you call all this?' asked he as he pointed to the house.

'House or cottage, or whatever you please, sir.'

'You must call it "high topper mountain".'

That very night the servant woke her master up in a fright and said: 'Master of all masters, get out of your barnacle and put on your squibs and crackers. For white-faced simminy has got a spark of hot cockalorum on its tail, and unless you get some pondalorum high topper mountain will be all on hot cockalorum' . . . 

That's all.

Reading it as a child and then later as a father, my take away, aside from the humor of the strange language, was not to needlessly complicate things.  I now recognize that in a strange way this is a variant of Ockham's Razor, "Entities must not be multiplied beyond necessity."  In the vernacular, it is rendered as "The simplest explanation is usually the best one."

But reading it now, The Master of all Masters reminds me of academics in narrow fields, endlessly introducing jargon and terms that obscure that which is actually being discussed.  A guild of cockalorums.