Share:
  Guess poet | Poets | Poets timeline | Isles | Contacts

William Blake - Blind Man`s BuffWilliam Blake - Blind Man`s Buff
Work rating: Medium


When silver snow decks Susan`s clothes, And jewel hangs at th` shepherd`s nose, The blushing bank is all my care, With hearth so red, and walls so fair; `Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher, The oaken log lay on the fire.` The well-wash`d stools, a circling row, With lad and lass, how fair the show! The merry can of nut-brown ale, The laughing jest, the love-sick tale, Till, tir`d of chat, the game begins. The lasses prick the lads with pins; Roger from Dolly twitch`d the stool, She, falling, kiss`d the ground, poor fool! She blush`d so red, with sidelong glance At hob-nail Dick, who griev`d the chance. But now for Blind man`s Buff they call; Of each encumbrance clear the hall— Jenny her silken `kerchief folds, And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds. Now laughing stops, with `Silence! hush!` And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push. The Blind man`s arms, extended wide, Sam slips between:—`O woe betide Thee, clumsy Will!`—but titt`ring Kate Is penn`d up in the corner straight! And now Will`s eyes beheld the play; He thought his face was t`other way. `Now, Kitty, now! what chance hast thou, Roger so near thee!—Trips, I vow!` She catches him—then Roger ties His own head up—but not his eyes; For thro` the slender cloth he sees, And runs at Sam, who slips with ease His clumsy hold; and, dodging round, Sukey is tumbled on the ground!— `See what it is to play unfair! Where cheating is, there`s mischief there.` But Roger still pursues the chase,— `He sees! he sees!` cries, softly, Grace; `O Roger, thou, unskill`d in art, Must, surer bound, go thro` thy part!` Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rimes, And Roger turns him round three times, Then pauses ere he starts—but Dick Was mischief bent upon a trick; Down on his hands and knees he lay Directly in the Blind man`s way, Then cries out `Hem!` Hodge heard, and ran With hood-wink`d chance—sure of his man; But down he came. Alas, how frail Our best of hopes, how soon they fail! With crimson drops he stains the ground; Confusion startles all around. Poor piteous Dick supports his head, And fain would cure the hurt he made. But Kitty hasted with a key, And down his back they straight convey The cold relief; the blood is stay`d, And Hodge again holds up his head. Such are the fortunes of the game, And those who play should stop the same By wholesome laws; such as all those Who on the blinded man impose Stand in his stead; as, long a-gone, When men were first a nation grown, Lawless they liv`d, till wantonness A 1000 nd liberty began t` increase, And one man lay in another`s way; Then laws were made to keep fair play.
Source

The script ran 0.005 seconds.