John Masefield - The Everlasting MercyJohn Masefield - The Everlasting Mercy
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Thy place is biggyd above the sterrys cleer,
Noon erthely paleys wrouhte in so statly wyse,
Com on my freend, my brothir moost enteer,
For the I offryd my blood in sacrifise.
John Lydgate.
From `41 to `51
I was folk`s contrary son;
I bit my father`s hand right through
And broke my mother`s heart in two.
I sometimes go without my dinner
Now that I know the times I`ve gi`n her.
From `51 to `61
I cut my teeth and took to fun.
I learned what not to be afraid of
And what stuff women`s lips are made of;
I learned with what a rosy feeling
Good ale makes floors seem like the ceiling,
And how the moon give shiny light
To lads as roll home singing by`t.
My blood did leap, my flesh did revel,
Saul Kane was tokened to the devil.
From `61 to`71
I lived in disbelief of Heaven.
I drunk, I fought, I poached, I whored,
I did despite unto the Lord.
I cursed, `would make a man look pale,
And nineteen times I went to gaol
Now, friends, observe and look upon me,
Mark how the Lord took pity on me.
By Dead Man`s Thorn, while setting wires,
Who should come up but Billy Myers,
A friend of mine, who used to be
As black a sprig of hell as me,
With whom I`d planned, to save encroachin`,
Which fields and coverts each should poach in.
Now when he saw me set my snare,
He tells me "Get to hell from there.
This field is mine," he says, "by right;
If you poach here, there`ll be a fight.
Out now," he says, "and leave your wire;
It`s mine."
"It ain`t."
"You put."
"You liar."
"You closhy put."
"You bloody liar."
"This is my field."
"This is my wire."
"I`m ruler here."
"You ain`t."
"I am."
"I`ll fight you for it."
"Right, by damn.
Not now, though, I`ve a-sprained my thumb,
We`ll fight after the harvest hum.
And Silas Jones, that bookie wide,
Will make a purse five pounds a side."
Those were the words, that was the place
By which God brought me into grace.
On Wood Top Field the peewits go
Mewing and wheeling ever so;
And like the shaking of a timbrel
Cackles the laughter of the whimbrel..
In the old quarry-pit they say
Head-keeper Pike was made away.
He walks, head-keeper Pike, for harm,
He taps the windows of the farm;
The blood drips from his broken chin,
He taps and begs to be let in.
On Wood Top, nights, I`ve shaked to hark
The peewits wambling in the dark
Lest in the dark the old man might
Creep up to me to beg a light.
But Wood Top grass is short and sweet
And springy to a boxer`s feet;
At harvest hum the moon so bright
Did shine on Wood Top for the fight.
When Bill was stripped down to his bends
I thought how long we two`d been friends,
And in my mind, about that wire,
I thought "He`s right, I am a liar.
As sure as skilly`s made in prison
The right to poach that copse is his`n.
I`ll have no luck tonight," thinks I.
"I`m fighting to defend a lie.
And this moonshiny evening`s fun
Is worse than aught I`ve ever done."
And thinking that way my heart bled so
I almost stept to Bill and said so.
And now Bill`s dead I would be glad
If I could only think I had.
But no. I put the thought away
For fear of what my friends would say.
They`d backed me, see? O Lord, the sin
Done for things there`s money in.
The stakes were drove, the ropes were hitched,
Into the ring my hat I pitched.
My corner faced the Squire`s park
Just where the fir trees make it dark;
The place where I begun poor Nell
Upon the woman`s road to hell.
I thought of`t, sitting in my corner
After the time-keep struck his warner
(Two brandy flasks, for fear of noise,
Clinked out the time to us two boys).
And while the seconds chafed and gloved me
I thought of Nell`s eyes when she loved me,
And wondered how my tot would end,
First Nell cast off and now my friend;
And in the moonlight dim and wan
I knew quite well my luck was gone;
And looking round I felt a spite
At all who`d come to see me fight;
The five and forty human faces
Inflamed by drink and going to races,
Faces of men who`d never been
Merry or true or live or clean;
Who`d never felt the boxer`s trim
Of brain divinely knit to limb,
Nor felt the whole live body go
One tingling health from top to toe;
Nor took a punch nor given a swing,
But just soaked dead round the ring
Until their brains and bloods were foul
Enough to make their throttles howl,
While we whom Jesus died to teach
Fought round on round, three minutes each.
And think that, you`ll understand
I thought, "I`ll go and take Bill`s hand.
I`ll up and say the fault was mine,
He shan`t make play for these here swine."
And then I thought that that was silly,
They`d think I was afraid of Billy;
They`d think (I thought it, God forgive me)
I funked the hiding Bill could give me.
And that thought made me mad and hot.
"Think that, will they? Well, they shall not.
They shan`t think that. I will not. I`m
Damned if I will. I will not."
Time!
From the beginning of the bout
My luck was gone, my hand was out.
Right from the start Bill called the play,
But I was quick and kept away
Till the fourth round, when work got mixed,
And then I knew Bill had me fixed.
My hand was out, why, Heaven knows;
Bill punched me when and where he chose.
Through two more rounds we quartered wide,
And all the time my hands seemed tied;
Bill punched me when and where he pleased.
The cheering from my backers eased,
But every punch I heard a yell
Of "That`s the style, Bill, give him hell."
No one for me, but Jimmy`s light
"Straight left! Straight left!" and "Watch his right."
I don`t know how a boxer goes
When all his body hums from blows;
I know I seemed to rock and spin,
I don`t know how I saved my chin;
I know I thought my only friend
Was that clinked flash at each round`s end
When my two seconds, Ed and Jimmy,
Had sixty seconds help to gimme.
But in the ninth, with pain and knocks
I stopped: I couldn`t fight nor box.
Bill missed his swing, the light was tricky,
But I went down, and stayed down, dicky.
"Get up," cried Jim. I said, "I will."
Then all the gang yelled, "Out him, bill.
Out him." Bill rushed . . . and Clink, Clink, Clink.
Time! And Jim`s knee, and rum to drink.
And round the ring there ran a titter:
"Saved by the call, the bloody quitter."
They drove (a dodge that never fails)
A pin beneath my finger nails.
They poured what seemed a running beck
Of cold spring water down my neck;
Jim with a lancet quick as flies
Lowered the swelling round my eyes.
They sluiced my legs and fanned my face
Through all that blessed minute`s grace;
They gave my calves a thorough kneading,
They salved my cuts and stopped the bleeding.
A gulp of liquor dulled the pain,
And then the flasks clinked again.
Time!
There was Bill as grim as death,
He rushed, I clinched, to get more breath,
And breath I got, though Billy bats
Some stinging short-arms in my slats.
And when we broke, as I foresaw,
He swung his right in for the jaw.
I stopped it on my shoulder bone,
And at the shock I heard Bill groan
A little groan or moan or grunt
As though I`d hit his wind a bunt.
At that, I clinched, and while we clinched,
His old time right arm dig was flinched,
And when we broke he hit me light
As though he didn`t trust his right,
He flapped me somehow with his wrist
As though he couldn`t use his fist,
And when he hit he winced with pain.
I thought, "Your sprained thumb`s crocked again."
So I got strength and Bill gave ground,
And that round was an easy round.
During the wait my Jimmy said,
What`s making Billy fight so dead?
He`s all to pieces. Is he blown?"
"His thumb`s out."
"No? Then it`s your own.
It`s all your own, but don`t be rash
He`s got the goods if you`ve got the cash,
And what one hand can do he`ll do.
Be careful this next round or two."
Time. There was Bill, and I felt sick
That luck should play so mean a trick
And give me leave to knock him out
After he`d plainly won the bout.
But by the way the man came at me
He made it plain he meant to bat me;
If you`d a seen the way he come
You wouldn`t think he`d crocked a thumb.
With all his skill and all his might
He clipped me dizzy left and right;
The Lord knows what the effort cost,
but he was mad to think he`d lost,
And knowing nothing else could save him
He didn`t care what pain it gave him.
He called the music and the dance
For five rounds more and gave no chance.
Try to imagine if you can
The kind of manhood in the man,
And if you`d like to feel his pain
You sprain your thumb and hit the sprain.
And hit it hard with all your power
On something hard for half-an-hour,
While someone thumps you black and blue,
And then you`ll know what Billy knew.
Bill took that pain without a sound
Till halfway through the eighteenth round,
And then I sent him down and out,
And Silas said, "Kane wins the bout."
When Bill came to, you understand,
I ripped the mitten from my hand
And across to ask Bill shake,
My limbs were all one pain and ache,
I was so weary and so sore
I don`t think I`d a stood much more.
Bill in his corner bathed his thumb,
Buttoned his shirt and glowered glum.
"I`ll never shake your hand" he said.
"I`d rather see my children dead.
I`ve been about had some fun with you,
But you`re a liar and I`ve done with you.
You`ve knocked me out, you didn`t beat me;
Look out the next time that you meet me,
There`ll be no friend to watch the clock for you
And no convenient thumb to crock for you,
And I`ll take care, with much delight,
You`ll get what you`d a got tonight;
That puts my meaning clear, I guess,
Now get to hell; I want to dress."
I dressed. My backers one and all
Said, "Well done you" or "Good old Saul."
"Saul is a wonder and a fly `un,
What`ll you have, Saul, at the Lion?"
With merry oaths they helped me down
The stony wood path to the town.
The moonlight shone on Cabbage Walk,
It made the limestone look like chalk.
It was too late for any people,
Twelve struck as we went by the steeple.
A dog barked, and an owl was calling,
The squire`s brook was still a-falling,
The carved heads on the church looked down
On "Russell, Blacksmith of this Town,"
And all the graves of all the ghosts
Who rise on Christmas Eve in hosts
To dance and carol in festivity
For joy of Jesus Christ`s Nativity
(Bell-ringer Dawe and his two sons
Beheld `em from the bell-tower once},
To and two about about
Singing the end of Advent out,
Dwindling down to windlestraws
When the glittering peacock craws,
As craw the glittering peacock should
When Christ`s own star come over the wood.
Lamb of the sky comes out of fold
Wandering windy heavens cold.
So they shone and sang till twelve
When all the bells ring out of theirselve.
Rang a peal for Christmas morn,
Glory, men, for Christ is born.
All the old monks` singing places
Glimmered quick with flitting faces,
Singing anthems, singing hymns
Under carven cherubims.
Ringer Dave aloft could mark
Faces at the window dark
Crowding, crowding, row on row,
Till all the church began to glow.
The chapel glowed, the nave, the choir,
All he faces became fire
Below the eastern window high
To see Christ`s star come up the sky.
Then they lifted hands and turned,
And all their lifted fingers burned,
Burned like the golden altar tallows,
Burned like a troop of God`s own Hallows,
Bringing to mind the burning time
When all the bells will rock and chime
And burning saints on burning horses
Will sweep the planets from their courses
And loose the stars to burn up night.
Lord, give us eyes to bear the light.
We all went quiet down the Scallenge
Lest Police Inspector Drew should challenge.
But `Spector Drew was sleeping sweet,
His head upon a charges sheet,
Under the gas jet flaring full,
Snorting and snoring like a bull,
His bull cheeks puffed, his bull lips plowing,
His ugly yellow front teeth showing.
Just as we peeped we saw him fumble
And scratch his head, and shift, and mumble.
Down in the lane so thick and dark
The tan-yards stank of bitter bark,
The curate`s pigeons gave a flutter,
A cart went courting down the gutter,
And none else stirred a foot or feather.
The houses put their heads together,
Talking, perhaps, so dark and sly,
Of all the folk they`d seen go by,
Children, and men and women, merry all,
Who`d some day pass that way to burial.
It was all dark, but at the turning
The Lion had a window burning.
So in we went and up the stairs,
Treading as still as cats and hares.
The way the stairs creaked made you wonder
If dead men`s bones were hidden under.
At head of stairs upon the landing
A woman with a lamp was standing;
she greet each gent at head of stairs,
With "Step in, gents, and take your chairs.
The punch`ll come when kettle bubble,
But don`t make noise or there`ll be trouble."
`Twas Doxy Jane, a bouncing girl
With eyes all sparks and hair all curl,
And cheeks all red and lips all coal,
And thirst for men instead of soul.
She`s trod her pathway to the fire.
Old Rivers had his nephew by her.
I step aside from Tom and Jimmy
To find if she`d a kiss to gimme.
I blew out lamp `fore she could speak.
She said, "If you ain`t got a cheek,"
And then beside me in the dim,
"Did he beat you or you beat him?"
"Why, I beat him" (though that was wrong).
She said, "You must be turble strong,
I`d be afraid you`d beat me, too."
"You`d not," I said, "I wouldn`t do."
"Never?"
"No, never."
"Never?"
"No."
"O Saul. Here`s missus. Let me go."
It wasn`t missus, so I didn`t,
Whether I mid do or I midn`t,
Until she`d promised we should meet
Next evening, six, at top of street,
When we could have a quiet talk
On that low wall up Worcester Walk.
And while we whispered there together
I give her silver for a feather
And felt a drunkenness like wine
And shut out Christ in husks and swine.
I felt the dart strike through my liver.
God punish me for`t and forgive her.
Each one could be a Jesus mild,
Each one has been a little child,
A little child with laughing look,
A lovely white unwritten book;
A book that God will take, my friend,
As each goes out a journey`s end.
The Lord Who gave us Earth and Heaven
Takes that as thanks for all He`s given.
The book He lent is given back
All blotted red and smutted black.
"Open the door," said Jim, "and call."
Jane gasped "They`ll see me. Loose me, Saul."
She pushed me by, and ducked downstair
With half the pins out of her hair.
I went inside the lit room rollen
Her scented handkerchief I`d stolen.
"What would you fancy, Saul?" they said.
"A gin punch hot and then to bed."
"Jane, fetch the punch bowl to the gemmen;
And mind you don`t put too much lemon.
Our good friend Saul has had a fight of it,
Now smoke up, boys, and make a night of it."
The room was full of men and stink
Of bad cigars and heavy drink.
Riley was nodding to the floor
And gurgling as he wanted more.
His mouth was wide, his face was pale,
His swollen face was sweating ale;
And one of those assembled Greeks
Had corked black crosses on his cheeks.
Thomas was having words with Goss,
He "wouldn`t pay, the fight was cross."
And Goss told Tom that "cross or no,
The bets go as the verdicts go,
By all I`ve ever heard or read of.
So pay, or else I`ll knock your head off."
Jim Gurvil said his smutty say
About a girl down Bye Street way,
And how the girl from Froggatt`s circus
Died giving birth in Newent work`us.
And Dick told how the Dymock wench
Bore twins, poor things, on Dog Hill bench;
And how he`d owned to one Court
And how Judge made him sorry for`t.
Jack set a jew`s harp twanging drily;
"gimme another cup," said Riley.
A dozen more were in their glories
With laughs and smokes and smutty stories;
And Jimmy joked and took his sup
And sang his song of "Up, come up."
Jane brought the bowl of stewing gin
And poured the egg and lemon in,
And whisked it up and served it out
While bawdy questions went about.
Jack chucked her chin, and Jim accost her
With bits out of the "Maid of Gloster."
And fifteen arms went round her waist.
(And then men ask, Are Barmaids chaste?}
O young men, pray to be kept whole
from bringing down a weaker soul.
Your minute`s joy so meet in doin`
May be the woman`s door to ruin;
The door to wandering up and down,
A painted whore with half a crown.
The bright mind fouled, the beauty gay
All eaten out and fallen away,
By drunken days and weary tramps
From pub to pub by city lamps
Till men despise the game they started
Till health and beauty are departed,
and in a slum the reeking hag
Mumbles a crust with toothy jag,
Or gets the river`s help to end
The life too wrecked for man to mend.
We spat and smoked and took our swipe
Till Silas up and tap his pipe,
And begged us all to pay attention
Because he`d several things to mention.
We`d seen the fight (Hear, hear. That`s you);
But still one task remained to do.
That task was his, he didn`t shun it,
To give the purse to him as won it.
With this remark, from start to out
He`d never seen a brisker bout.
There was the purse. At that he`d leave it.
Let Kane come forward to receive it.
I took the purse and hemmed and bowed,
And called for gin punch for the crowd;
And when the second bowl was done,
I called, "Let`s have another one."
Si`s wife come in and sipped and sipped
(As women will) till she was pipped.
And Si hit Dicky Twot a clouter
Because he put his arms about her;
But after Si got overtasked
She sat and kissed whoever asked.
My Doxy Jane was splashed by this,
I took her on my knee to kiss.
And Tom cried out, "O damn the gin;
Why can`t we all have women in?
Bess Evans now, or Sister Polly,
Or those two housemaids at the Folly?
Let someone nip to Biddy Price`s,
They`d all come in a brace of trices.
Rose Davies, Sue, and Betsy Perks;
One man, one girl, and damn all Turks."
But, no. "More gin," they cried; "Come on.
We`ll have the girls in when it`s gone."
So round the g in went, hot and heady,
Hot Hollands punch on top of deady.
Hot Hollands punch on top of stout
Puts madness in and wisdom out.
From drunken man to drunken man
The drunken madness raged and ran.
"I`m climber Joe who climbed the spire."
"You`re climber Joe the bloody liar."
"Who says I lie?" "I do."
"You lie,
I climbed the spire and had a fly."
"I`m French Suzanne, the Circus Dancer,
I`m going to dance a bloody Lancer."
"If I`d my rights I`m Squire`s heir."
"By rights I`d be a millionaire."
"By rights I`d be the lord of you,
But Farmer Scriggins had his do,
He done me, so I`ve had to hoove it,
I`ve got it all wrote down to prove it.
And one of these dark winter nights
He`ll learn I mean to have my rights;
I`ll bloody him a bloody fix,
I`ll bloody burn his bloody ricks."
From three long hours of gin and smokes,
And two girls` breath and fifteen blokes,
A warmish night, and windows shut,
The room stank like a fox`s gut.
The heat and smell and drinking deep
Began to stun the gang to sleep.
Some fell downstairs to sleep on mat,
Some snored it sodden where they sat.
Dick Twot had lost a tooth and wept;
But all the drunken others slept.
Jane slept beside me in the chair,
And I got up; I wanted air.
I opened window wide and leaned
Out of that pigstye of the fiend
And felt a cool wind go like grace
About the sleeping market-place.
The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly,
The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy;
And in a second`s pause there fell
The cold note of the chapel bell.
And then a cock crew, flapping wings,
And summat made me think of things.
How long those ticking clocks had gone
From church to chapel, on and on,
Ticking the time out, ticking slow
To men and girls who`d come and go,
And how they ticked in belfry dark
When half the town was bishop`s park,
And how they`d run a chime full tilt
The night after the church was built,
And that night was Lambert`s Feast,
The night I`d fought and been a beast.
And how a change had come. And then
I thought, "You tick to different men."
What with the fight and what with drinking
And being awake alone there thinking,
My mind began to carp and tetter,
"If this life`s all, the beasts are better."
And then I thought, "I wish I`d seen
The many towns this town has been;
I wish I knew if they`d a got
A kind of summat we`ve a-not,
If them as built the church so fair
Were half the chaps folk say they were;
For they`d the skill to draw their plan,
And skill`s a joy to any man;
And they`d the strength, not skill alone,
To build it beautiful in stone;
And strength and skill together thus
O, they were happier men than us.
But if they were, they had to die
The same as every one and I.
And no one lives again, but dies,
And all the bright goes out of eyes,
and all the skill goes out of hands,
And all the wise brain understands,
And all the beauty, all the power
Is cut down like a withered flower.
In all the show from birth to rest
I give the poor dumb cattle best."
I wondered, then, why life should be,
And what would be the end of me
When youth and health and strength were gone
And cold old age came creeping on?
A keeper`s gun? The Union ward?
Or that new quod at Hereford?
And looking round I felt disgust
At all the nights of drink and lust,
And all the looks of all the swine
Who`d said that they were friends of mine;
And yet I knew, when morning came,
The morning would be just the same,
for I`d have drinks and Jane would meet me
And drunken Silas Jones would greet me,
And I`d risk quod and keeper`s gun
Till all the silly game was done.
"For parson chaps are mad, supposin`
A chap can change the road he`s chosen."
And then the Devil whispered, "Saul,
Why should you want to live at all?
Why fret and sweat and try to mend?
It`s all the same thing in the end.
But when it`s done," he said, "it`s ended.
Why stand it , since it can`t be mended?"
And in my heart I heard him plain,
"Throw yourself down and end it, Kane."
"Why not?" said I. "Why not? But no.
I won`t. I`ve never had my go.
I`ve not had all the world can give.
Death by and by, but first I`ll live.
The world owes me my time of times,
And that time`s coming now, by crimes."
A madness took me then. I felt
I`d like to hit the world a belt.
I felt that I could fly through air,
A screaming star with blazing hair,
A rushing comet, crackling, numbing
The folk with fear of judgment coming,
A `Lijah in a fiery car,
Coming to tell folk what they are.
"That`s what I`ll do," I shouted loud.
"I`ll tell this sanctimonious crowd
This town of window peeping, prying,
Maligning, peering, hinting, lying,
Male and female human blots
Who would, but daren`t be, whores and sots,
That they`re so steeped in petty vice
That they`re less excellent than lice,
That touching one of them will dirt you,
Dirt you with the stain of mean
Cheating trade and going between,
Pinching, starving, scraping, hoarding
To see if Sue, the prentice lean,
Dares to touch the margarine.
Fawning, cringing, oiling boots,
Raging in the crowd`s pursuits,
Flinging stones at all the Stephens,
Standing firm with all the evens
Making hell for all the odd,
All the lonely ones of God,
Those poor lonely ones who find
Dogs more mild than human kind.
For dogs," I said, "are nobles born
To most of you, you cockled corn.
I`ve known dogs to leave their dinner,
Nosing a kind heart in a sinner.
Poor old Crafty wagged his tail
The day I first came home from jail.
When all my folk, so primly clad,
Glowered black and thought me mad,.
And muttered how they`d all expected.
(I`ve thought of that old dog for years,
And of how near I come to tears.)
But you, you minds of bread and cheese,
Are less divine tha[n] that dog`s fleas,
You suck blood from kindly friends,
And kill them when it serves your ends.,
Double traitors, double black,
Stabbing only in the back,
Stabbing with the knives you borrow
From the friends you bring to sorrow.
You stab all that`s true and strong,
Truth and strength you say are wrong,
Meek and mild, and sweet and creeping,
Repeating, canting cadging, peeping,
That`s the art and that`s the life
To win a man his neighbour`s wife.
All that`s good and all that`s true,
You kill that, so I`ll kill you."
At that I tore my clothes in shreds
And hurled them on the window leads;
I flung my boots through both the winders
And knocked the glass to little flinders;
The punch bowl and the tumblers followed,
and then I seized the lamps and holloed,
And down the stairs, and tore back bolts,
As mad as twenty blooded colts;
And out into the street I pass,
As mad as two-year-olds at grass
A naked madman saving grand
A blazing lamp in either hand.
I yelled like twenty drunken sailors,
:The devil`s come among the tailors."
A blaze of flame behind me streamed,
And then I clashed the lamps and screamed
"I`m Satan, newly come from hell."
And then I spied the fire bell.
I`ve been a ringer, so I know
How best to make a big bell go.
So on to bell-rope swift swoop,
And stick my one foot in the loop
And heave a down-swig till I groan
"Awake, you swine, you devil`s own."
I made the fire-bell awake,
I felt the bell-rope throb and shake;
I felt the air mingle and clang
And beat the walls a muffled bang,
And stifle back and boom and bay
Like muffled peals on Boxing Day,
And then surge up and gather shape,
And spread great pinions and escape;
And each great bird of clanging shrieks
O Fire! Fire, from iron beaks.
My shoulders cracked to send around
Those shrieking birds made out of sound
With news of fire in their bills.
(They heard `em plain beyond Wall Hills.).
Up go the winders, out come heads,
I heard the springs go creak in beds;
But still I heave and sweat and tire,
And still the clang goes "Fire, Fire!"
"Where is it, then? Who is it, there?
You ringer, stop, and tell us where."
"Run round and let the Captain know."
"It must be bad, he`s ringing so,"
"It`s in the town, I see the flame;
Look there! Look there, how red it came."
"Where is it, then? O stop the bell."
I stopped and called: "It`s fire of hell;
And this is Sodom and Gomorrah,
And now I`ll burn you up, begorra."
By this time firemen were mustering,
The half-dressed stable men were flustering,
Backing the horses out of stalls
While this man swears and that man bawls,
"Don`t take th`old mare. Back, Toby, back.
Back, Lincoln. Where`s the fire, Jack?"
"Damned if I know. Out Preston way."
"No. It`s at Chancey`s Pitch, they say."
"It`s sixteen ricks at Pauntley burnt."
"You back old Darby out, I durn`t."
They ran the big red engine out,
And put `em to with damn and shout.
And then they start to raise the shire,
"Who brought the news, and where`s the fire?"
They`s moonlight, lamps, and gas to light `em.
I give a screech-owl`s screech to fright `em,
And snatch from underneath their noses
The nozzles of the fire hoses.
"I am the fire. Back, stand back,
Or else I`ll fetch your skulls a crack;
D`you see these copper nozzles here?
They weigh ten pounds a piece, my dear;
I`m fire of hell come up this minute
To burn this town and burn you clean,
You cogwheels in a stopped machine,
You hearts of snakes, and brains of pigeons,
You dead devout of dead religions,
You offspring of the hen and ass,
By Pilate ruled, and Caiaphas.
Now your account is totted. Learn
Hell`s flames are loose and you shall burn."
At that I leaped and screamed and ran,
I heard their cries go, "Catch him, man."
"Who was it?" "Down him." "Out him, Em."
"Duck him at pump, we`ll see who`ll burn."
A policeman clutched, a fireman clutched,
A dozen others snatched and touched.
"By God, he`s stripped down to his buff."
"By God, we`ll make him warm enough."
"After him," "Catch him," "Out him," " Scrob him."
"We`ll give him hell." "By God, we`ll mob him."
"We`ll duck him, scrout him, flog him, fratch him."
"All right," I said. "But first you`ll catch him."
The men who don`t know to the root
The joy of being swift of foot,
Have never known divine and fresh
The glory of the gift of flesh,
Nor felt the feet exult, not gone
Along a dim road, on and on,
Knowing again the bursting glows,
the mating hare in April knows,
Who tingles to the pads with mirth
At being the swiftest thing on earth.
O, if you want to know delight,
Run naked in an autumn night,
And laugh, as I laughed then, to find
A running rabble drop behind,
and whang, on ever door you pass,
Two copper nozzles, tipped with brass,
And double whang at every turning,
And yell, "All hell`s loose, and burning."
I beat my brass and shouted fire
At doors of parson, lawyer, squire,
at all three doors I threshed and slammed
And yelled aloud that they were damned.
I clodded squire`s glass with turves
Because he spring-gunned his preserves.
Through parson`s glass my nozzle swishes
Because he stood for loaves and fishes,
but parson`s glass I spared a tittle.
He give me a orange once when little,
And he who gives a child a treat
Makes joy-bells ring in Heaven`s street,
And he who gives a child a home
Build palaces in Kingdom come
and she who gives a baby birth
Brings Saviour Christ again to Earth,
For life is joy, and mind is fruit,
And body`s precious earth and root.
But lawyer`s glass-well, never mind,
Th` old Adam`s strong in me, I find.
God pardon man, and may God`s son
Forgive the evil things I`ve done.
What more? By Dirty Lane I crept
Back to the Lion, where I slept.
The raging madness hot and floodin`
Boiled itself out and left me sudden,
Left me worn out and sick and cold,
Aching as though I`d all grown old;
So there I lay, and there they found me
On door-mat, with a curtain round me.
Si took my heels and Jane my head
And laughed, and carried me to bed.
And from the neighbouring street they reskied
My boots and trousers, coat and weskit;
They bath-bricked both the nozzles bright
To be mementoes of the night,
And knowing what I should awake with,
They flanelled me a quart to slake with
And sat and shook till half past two
Expecting Police Inspector Drew.
I woke and drank, nd went to meat
In clothes still dirty from the street.
Down in the bar I hear `em tell
How someone rang the fire bell,
And how th`inspector`s search had thriven,
And how five pounds reward was given.
And shepherd Boyce, of Marley, glad us
By saying was blokes from mad`us.
Or two young rips lodged at the Prince
Whom none had seen nor heard of since,
Or that young blade from Worcester Walk
(You know how country people talk).
Young Joe the ostler come in sad,
He said th`old mare had bit his dad.
He said there`d come a blazing screeching
Daft Bible-prophet chap a-preaching,
Had put th`old mare in such a taking
she`d thought the bloody earth was quaking.
And others come and spread a tale
Of cut-throats out of Gloucester jail,
And how we needed extra cops
With all them Welsh come picking hops:
With drunken Welsh in all our sheds
We might be murdered in our beds.
By all accounts, both men and wives
Had had the scare up of their lives.
I ate and drank and gathered strength,
And stretched along the bench full length,
Or crossed to window seat to pat
Black Silas Jones`s little cat.
At four I called, "You devil`s own,
The second trumpet shall be blown.
The second trump, the second blast;
Hell`s flames are loosed, and judgment`s passed.
Too late for mercy now. Take warning.
I`m death and hell and Judgment morning."
I hurled the bench into the settle,
I banged the table on the kettle,
I sent Joe`s quart of cider spinning.
"Lo, here begins my second inning."
Each bottle, mug, and jug and pot
I smashed to crocks in half a tot;
And Joe, and Si, and Nick, and Percy
I rolled together topsy versy.
And as I ran I heard `em call,
"Now damn to hell, what`s gone with Saul?"
Out into street I ran uproarious
The devil dancing in me glorious.
And as I ran I yell and shriek
"Come on, now, turn the other cheek."
Across the way by almshouse pump
I see old puffing parson stump.
Old parson, red-eyed as a ferret
From nightly wrestlings with the spirit;
I ran acrosss, and barred his path.
His turkey gills went red as wrath
And then he froze as parsons can.
"The police will deal with you, my man."
"Not yet, "said I, "not yet they won`t;
And now you`ll hear me, like or don`t.
The English Church both is and was
A subsidy of Caiaphas.
I don`t believe in Prayer or Bible,
They`re lies all through, and you`re a libel,
A libel on the Devil`s plan
When first he miscreated man.
You mumble through a formal code
To get which martyrs burned and blowed.
I look on martyrs as mistakes,
But still they burned for it at stakes;
Your only fire`s the jolly fire
Where you can guzzle port with Squire,
And back and praise his damned opinions
About his temporal dominions.
You let him give the man who digs,
A filthy hut unfit for pigs,
Without a well, without a drain,
With mossy thatch that lets in rain,
Without a `lotment, `less he rent it,
And never meat, unless he scent it,
But weekly doles of `leven shilling
To make a grown man strong and willing,
To do the hardest work on earth
And feed his wife when she gives birth,
And feed his little children`s bones.
I tell you, man, the Devil groans.
With all your main and all your might
You back what is against what`s right;
You let the Squire do things like these,
You back him in`t and give him ease,
You take his hand and drink his wine,
And he`s a hog, but you`re a swine.
For you take gold to teach God`s ways
And teach man how to sing God`s praise.
And now I`ll tell you what you teach
In downright honest English speech.
"You teach the ground-down starving man
That Squire`s greed`s Jehovah`s plan.
You get his learning circumvented
Lest it should make him discontented
(Better a brutal, starving nation
Than men with thoughts above their station),
You let him neither read nor think,
You goad his wretched soul to drink
And then to jail, the drunken boor;
O sad intemperance of the poor.
You starve his soul till it`s rapscallion,
Then blame his flesh for being stallion.
You send your wife around to paint
The golden glories of "restraint."
How moral exercise bewild`rin`
Would soon result in fewer children.
You work a day in Squire`s fields
And see what sweet restraint it yields,
A woman`s day at turnip picking,
Your hearts too fat for plough or ricking.
"And you whom luck taught French and Greek
Have purple flaps on either cheek,
A stately house, and time for knowledge,
And gold to send your sons to college,
That pleasant place, where getting learning
Is also key to money earning.
But quite your damndest want of grace
Is what you do to save your face;
The way you sit astride the gates
By padding wages out of rates;
Your Christmas gifts of shoddy blankets
That every working soul may thank its
Loving parson, loving squire
Through whom he can`t afford a fire.
Your well-packed bench, your prison pen,
To keep them something less than men;
Source
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