NED BRATTS

Sing me a hero! Quench my thirstOf soul, ye bards!Quoth Bard the first:"Sir Olaf, the good knight, did donHis helm and eke his habergeon" ...Sir Olaf and his bard ——!"That sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second),"That eye wide ope as though Fate beckonedMy hero to some steep, beneathWhich precipice smiled tempting death" ...You too without your host have reckoned!"A beggar-child" (let 's hear this third!)"Sat on a quay's edge: like a birdSang to herself at careless play,And fell into the stream. 'Dismay!Help, you the standers-by!' None stirred."Bystanders reason, think of wivesAnd children ere they risk their lives.Over the balustrade has bouncedA mere instinctive dog, and pouncedPlumb on the prize. 'How well he dives!"'Up he comes with the child, see, tightIn mouth, alive too, clutched from quiteA depth of ten feet—twelve, I bet!Good dog! What, off again? There 's yetAnother child to save? All right!'"How strange we saw no other fall!It 's instinct in the animal.Good dog! But he 's a long while under:If he got drowned I should not wonder—Strong current, that against the wall!"'Here he comes, holds in mouth this time—What may the thing be? Well, that 's prime!Now, did you ever? Reason reignsIn man alone, since all Tray's painsHave fished—the child's doll from the slime!'"And so, amid the laughter gay,Trotted my hero off,—old Tray,—Till somebody, prerogativedWith reason, reasoned: 'Why he dived,His brain would show us, I should say."'John, go and catch—or, if needs be,Purchase—that animal for me!By vivisection, at expenseOf half-an-hour and eighteenpence,How brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see!'"

Sing me a hero! Quench my thirstOf soul, ye bards!

Sing me a hero! Quench my thirst

Of soul, ye bards!

Quoth Bard the first:"Sir Olaf, the good knight, did donHis helm and eke his habergeon" ...Sir Olaf and his bard ——!

Quoth Bard the first:

"Sir Olaf, the good knight, did don

His helm and eke his habergeon" ...

Sir Olaf and his bard ——!

"That sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second),"That eye wide ope as though Fate beckonedMy hero to some steep, beneathWhich precipice smiled tempting death" ...You too without your host have reckoned!

"That sin-scathed brow" (quoth Bard the second),

"That eye wide ope as though Fate beckoned

My hero to some steep, beneath

Which precipice smiled tempting death" ...

You too without your host have reckoned!

"A beggar-child" (let 's hear this third!)"Sat on a quay's edge: like a birdSang to herself at careless play,And fell into the stream. 'Dismay!Help, you the standers-by!' None stirred.

"A beggar-child" (let 's hear this third!)

"Sat on a quay's edge: like a bird

Sang to herself at careless play,

And fell into the stream. 'Dismay!

Help, you the standers-by!' None stirred.

"Bystanders reason, think of wivesAnd children ere they risk their lives.Over the balustrade has bouncedA mere instinctive dog, and pouncedPlumb on the prize. 'How well he dives!

"Bystanders reason, think of wives

And children ere they risk their lives.

Over the balustrade has bounced

A mere instinctive dog, and pounced

Plumb on the prize. 'How well he dives!

"'Up he comes with the child, see, tightIn mouth, alive too, clutched from quiteA depth of ten feet—twelve, I bet!Good dog! What, off again? There 's yetAnother child to save? All right!'

"'Up he comes with the child, see, tight

In mouth, alive too, clutched from quite

A depth of ten feet—twelve, I bet!

Good dog! What, off again? There 's yet

Another child to save? All right!'

"How strange we saw no other fall!It 's instinct in the animal.Good dog! But he 's a long while under:If he got drowned I should not wonder—Strong current, that against the wall!

"How strange we saw no other fall!

It 's instinct in the animal.

Good dog! But he 's a long while under:

If he got drowned I should not wonder—

Strong current, that against the wall!

"'Here he comes, holds in mouth this time—What may the thing be? Well, that 's prime!Now, did you ever? Reason reignsIn man alone, since all Tray's painsHave fished—the child's doll from the slime!'

"'Here he comes, holds in mouth this time

—What may the thing be? Well, that 's prime!

Now, did you ever? Reason reigns

In man alone, since all Tray's pains

Have fished—the child's doll from the slime!'

"And so, amid the laughter gay,Trotted my hero off,—old Tray,—Till somebody, prerogativedWith reason, reasoned: 'Why he dived,His brain would show us, I should say.

"And so, amid the laughter gay,

Trotted my hero off,—old Tray,—

Till somebody, prerogatived

With reason, reasoned: 'Why he dived,

His brain would show us, I should say.

"'John, go and catch—or, if needs be,Purchase—that animal for me!By vivisection, at expenseOf half-an-hour and eighteenpence,How brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see!'"

"'John, go and catch—or, if needs be,

Purchase—that animal for me!

By vivisection, at expense

Of half-an-hour and eighteenpence,

How brain secretes dog's soul, we'll see!'"

Written from memory of Bunyan's story of old Tod inThe Life and Death of Mr. Badman.

'T was Bedford Special Assize, one daft Midsummer's Day:A broiling blasting June,—was never its like, men say.Corn stood sheaf-ripe already, and trees looked yellow as that;Ponds drained dust-dry, the cattle lay foaming around each flat.Inside town, dogs went mad, and folk kept bibbing beer,While the parsons prayed for rain. 'T was horrible, yes—but queer:Queer—for the sun laughed gay, yet nobody moved a handTo work one stroke at his trade: as given to understandThat all was come to a stop, work and such worldly ways,And the world's old self about to end in a merry blaze,Midsummer's day moreover was the first of Bedford Fair;With Bedford Town's tag-rag and bobtail a-bowsing there.But the Court House, Quality crammed: through doors ope, windows wide,High on the Bench you saw sit Lordships side by side.There frowned Chief Justice Jukes, fumed learned Brother Small,And fretted their fellow Judge: like threshers, one and all,Of a reek with laying down the law in a furnace. Why?Because their lungs breathed flame—the regular crowd forbye—From gentry pouring in—quite a nosegay, to be sure!How else could they pass the time, six mortal hours endureTill night should extinguish day, when matters might haply mend?Meanwhile no bad resource was—watching begin and endSome trial for life and death, in a brisk five minutes' space,And betting which knave would 'scape, which hang, from his sort of face.So, their Lordships toiled and moiled, and a deal of work was done(I warrant) to justify the mirth of the crazy sun,As this and t' other lout, struck dumb at the sudden showOf red robes and white wigs, boggled nor answered "Boh!"When asked why he, Tom Styles, should not—because Jack NokesHad stolen the horse—be hanged: for Judges must have their jokes,And louts must make allowance—let 's say, for some blue flyWhich punctured a dewy scalp where the frizzles stuck awry—Else Tom had fleered scot-free, so nearly over and doneWas the main of the job. Full-measure, the gentles enjoyed their fun,As a twenty-five were tried, rank puritans caught at prayerIn a cow-house and laid by the heels,—have at 'em, devil may care!—And ten were prescribed the whip, and ten a brand on the cheek,And five a slit of the nose—just leaving enough to tweak.Well, things at jolly high-tide, amusement steeped in fire,While noon smote fierce the roof's red tiles to heart's desire,The Court a-simmer with smoke, one ferment of oozy flesh,One spirituous humming musk mount-mounting until its meshEntoiled all heads in a fluster, and Serjeant Postlethwayte—Dashing the wig oblique as he mopped his oily pate—Cried "Silence, or I grow grease! No loophole lets in air?Jurymen,—Guilty, Death! Gainsay me if you dare!"—Things at this pitch, I say,—what hubbub without the doors?What laughs, shrieks, hoots and yells, what rudest of uproars?Bounce through the barrier throng a bulk comes rolling vast!Thumps, kicks,—no manner of use!—spite of them rolls at lastInto the midst a ball, which, bursting, brings to viewPublican Black Ned Bratts and Tabby his big wife too:Both in a muck-sweat, both ... were never such eyes upliftAt the sight of yawning hell, such nostrils—snouts that sniffedSulphur, such mouths agape ready to swallow flame!Horrified, hideous, frank fiend-faces! yet, all the same,Mixed with a certain ... eh? how shall I dare style—mirthThe desperate grin of the guess that, could they break from earth,Heaven was above, and hell might rage in impotenceBelow the saved, the saved!"Confound you! (no offence!)Out of our way,—push, wife! Yonder their Worships be!"Ned Bratts has reached the bar, and "Hey, my Lords," roars he,"A Jury of life and death, Judges the prime of the land,Constables, javelineers,—all met, if I understand,To decide so knotty a point as whether 't was Jack or JoanRobbed the henroost, pinched the pig, hit the King's Arms with a stone,Dropped the baby down the well, left the tithesman in the lurch,Or, three whole Sundays running, not once attended church!What a pother—do these deserve the parish-stocks or whip,More or less brow to brand, much or little nose to snip,—When, in our Public, plain stand we—that 's we stand hereI and my Tab, brass-bold, brick-built of beef and beer,—Do not we, slut? Step forth and show your beauty, jade!Wife of my bosom—that 's the word now! What a tradeWe drove! None said us nay: nobody loved his lifeSo little as wag a tongue against us,—did they, wife?Yet they knew us all the while, in their hearts, for what we are—Worst couple, rogue and quean, unhanged—search near and far!Eh, Tab? The peddler, now—o'er his noggin—who warned a mateTo cut and run, nor risk his pack where its loss of weightWas the least to dread,—aha, how we two laughed a-goodAs, stealing round the midden, he came on where I stoodWith billet poised and raised,—you, ready with the rope,—Ah, but that 's past, that 's sin repented of, we hope!Men knew us for that same, yet safe and sound stood we!The lily-livered knaves knew too (I 've balked a d——)Our keeping the 'Pied Bull' was just a mere pretence:Too slow the pounds make food, drink, lodging, from out the pence!There 's not a stoppage to travel has chanced, this ten long year,No break into hall or grange, no lifting of nag or steer,Not a single roguery, from the clipping of a purseTo the cutting of a throat, but paid us toll. Od's curse!When Gypsy Smouch made bold to cheat us of our due,—Eh, Tab? the Squire's strong-box we helped the rascal to—I think he pulled a face, next Sessions' swinging-time!He danced the jig that needs no floor,—and, here 's the prime,'T was Scroggs that houghed the mare! Ay, those were busy days!"Well, there we flourished brave, like scripture-trees called bays,Faring high, drinking hard, in money up to head—Not to say, boots and shoes, when ... Zounds, I nearly said—Lord, to unlearn one's language! How shall we labor, wife?Have you, fast hold, the Book? Grasp, grip it, for your life!See, sirs, here 's life, salvation! Here 's—hold but out my breath—When did I speak so long without once swearing? 'Sdeath,No, nor unhelped by ale since man and boy! And yetAll yesterday I had to keep my whistle wetWhile reading Tab this Book: book? don't say 'book'—they 're plays,Songs, ballads, and the like: here 's no such strawy blaze,But sky wide ope, sun, moon, and seven stars out full-flare!Tab, help and tell! I 'm hoarse. A mug! or —no, a prayer!Dip for one out of the Book! Who wrote it in the Jail—He plied his pen unhelped by beer, sirs, I 'll be bail!"I 've got my second wind. In trundles she—that 's Tab.'Why, Gammer, what 's come now, that—bobbing like a crabOn Yule-tide bowl—your head 's a-work and both your eyesBreak loose? Afeard, you fool? As if the dead can rise!Say—Bagman Dick was found last May with fuddling-capStuffed in his month: to choke 's a natural mishap!''Gaffer, be—blessed,' cries she, 'and Bagman Dick as well!I, you, and he are damned: this Public is our hell:We live in fire: live coals don't feel!—once quenched, they learn—Cinders do, to what dust they moulder while they burn!'"'If you don't speak straight out,' says I—belike I swore—'A knobstick, well you know the taste of, shall, once more,Teach you to talk, my maid!' She ups with such a face,Heart sunk inside me. 'Well, pad on, my prate-apace!'"'I 've been about those laces we need for ... never mind!If henceforth they tie hands, 't is mine they 'll have to bind.You know who makes them best—the Tinker in our cage,Pulled-up for gospelling, twelve years ago: no ageTo try another trade,—yet, so he scorned to takeMoney he did not earn, he taught himself the makeOf laces, tagged and tough—Dick Bagman found them so!Good customers were we! Well, last week, you must know,His girl,—the blind young chit, who hawks about his wares,—She takes it in her head to come no more—such airsThese hussies have! Yet, since we need a stoutish lace,—"I 'll to the jail-bird father, abuse her to his face!"So, first I filled a jug to give me heart, and then,Primed to the proper pitch, I posted to their den—Patmore, they style their prison! I tip the turnkey, catchMy heart up, fix my face, and fearless lift the latch—Both arms akimbo, in bounce with a good round oathReady for rapping out: no "Lawks" nor "By my troth!""'There sat my man, the father. He looked up: what one feelsWhen heart that leapt to mouth drops down again to heels!He raised his hand ... Hast seen, when drinking out the night,And in, the day, earth grow another something quiteUnder the sun's first stare? I stood a very stone."'"Woman!" (a fiery tear he put in every tone),"How should my child frequent your house where lust is sport,Violence—trade? Too true! I trust no vague report.Her angel's hand, which stops the sight of sin, leaves clearThe other gate of sense, lets outrage through the ear.What has she heard!—which, heard shall never be again.Better lack food than feast, a Dives in the—wainOr reign or train—of Charles!" (His language was not ours:'T is my belief, God spoke: no tinker has such powers.)"Bread, only bread they bring—my laces: if we brokeYour lump of leavened sin, the loaf's first crumb would choke!""'Down on my marrow-bones! Then all at once rose he:His brown hair burst a-spread, his eyes were suns to see:Up went his hands: "Through flesh, I reach, I read thy soul!So may some stricken tree look blasted, bough and bole,Champed by the fire-tooth, charred without, and yet, thrice-boundWith dreriment about, within may life be found,A prisoned power to branch and blossom as before,Could but the gardener cleave the cloister, reach the core,Loosen the vital sap: yet where shall help be found?Who says 'How save it?'—nor 'Why cumbers it the ground?'Woman, that tree art thou! All sloughed about with scurf,Thy stag-horns fright the sky, thy snake-roots sting the turf!Drunkenness, wantonness, theft, murder gnash and gnarlThine outward, case thy soul with coating like the marleSatan stamps flat upon each head beneath his hoof!And how deliver such? The strong men keep aloof,Lover and friend stand far, the mocking ones pass by,Tophet gapes wide for prey: lost soul, despair and die!What then? 'Look unto me and be ye saved!' saith God:'I strike the rock, outstreats the life-stream at my rod![9]Be your sins scarlet, wool shall they seem like, —althoughAs crimson red, yet turn white as the driven snow!'""'There, there, there! All I seem to somehow understandIs—that, if I reached home, 't was through the guiding handOf his blind girl which led and led me through the streetsAnd out of town and up to door again. What greetsFirst thing my eye, as limbs recover from their swoon?A book—this Book she gave at parting. "Father's boon—The Book he wrote: it reads as if he spoke himself:He cannot preach in bonds, so,—take it down from shelfWhen you want counsel,—think you hear his very voice!"'Wicked dear Husband, first despair and then rejoice!Dear wicked Husband, waste no tick of moment more,Be saved like me, bald trunk! There 's greenness yet at core,Sap under slough! Read, read!'"Let me take breath, my lords!I 'd like to know, are these—hers, mine, or Bunyan's words?I 'm 'wildered—scarce with drink,—nowise with drink alone!You 'll say, with heat: but heat 's no stuff to split a stoneLike this black boulder—this flint heart of mine: the Book—That dealt the crashing blow! Sirs, here 's the fist that shookHis beard till Wrestler Jem howled like a just-lugged bear!You had brained me with a feather: at once I grew awareChristmas was meant for me. A burden at your back,Good Master Christmas? Nay,—yours was that Joseph's sack,—Or whose it was,—which held the cup,—compared with mine!Robbery loads my loins, perjury cracks my chine,Adultery ... nay, Tab, you pitched me as I flung!One word, I 'll up with fist ... No, sweet spouse, hold your tongue!"I 'm hasting to the end. The Book, sirs—take and read!You have my history in a nutshell,—ay, indeed!It must off, my burden! See,—slack straps and into pit,Roll, reach the bottom, rest, rot there—a plague on it!For a mountain 's sure to fall and bury Bedford Town,'Destruction'—that 's the name, and fire shall burn it down!Oh, 'scape the wrath in time! Time 's now, if not too late.How can I pilgrimage up to the wicket-gate?Next comes Despond the slough: not that I fear to pullThrough mud, and dry my clothes at brave House Beautiful—But it 's late in the day, I reckon: had I left years agoTown, wife, and children dear ... Well, Christmas did, you know!—Soon I had met in the valley and tried my cudgel's strengthOn the enemy horned and winged, a-straddle across its length!Have at his horns, thwick—thwack: they snap, see! Hoof and hoof—Bang, break the fetlock-bones! For love's sake, keep aloofAngels! I 'm man and match,—this cudgel for my flail,—To thresh him, hoofs and horns, bat's wing and serpent's tail!A chance gone by! But then, what else does Hopeful dingInto the deafest ear except—hope, hope 's the thing?Too late i' the day for me to thrid the windings: butThere 's still a way to win the race by death's short cut!Did Master Faithful need climb the Delightful Mounts?No, straight to Vanity Fair,—a fair, by all accounts,Such as is held outside,—lords, ladies, grand and gay,—Says he in the face of them, just what you hear me say.And the Judges brought him in guilty, and brought him outTo die in the market-place—St. Peter's Green 's aboutThe same thing: there they flogged, flayed, buffeted, lanced with knives,Pricked him with swords,—I 'll swear, he 'd full a cat's nine lives,—So to his end at last came Faithful,—ha, ha, he!Who holds the highest card? for there stands hid, you see,Behind the rabble-rout, a chariot, pair and all:He 's in, he 's off, he 's up, through clouds, at trumpet-call,Carried the nearest way to Heaven-gate-! Odds my life—Has nobody a sword to spare? not even a knife?Then hang me, draw and quarter! Tab—do the same by her!O Master Worldly-Wiseman ... that 's Master Interpreter,Take the will, not the deed! Our gibbet 's handy, close:Forestall Last Judgment-Day! Be kindly, not morose!There wants no earthly judge-and-jurying: here we stand—Sentence our guilty selves: so, hang us out of hand!Make haste for pity's sake! A single moment's lossMeans—Satan 's lord once more: his whisper shoots acrossAll singing in my heart, all praying in my brain,'It comes of heat and beer!'—hark how he guffaws plain!'To-morrow you 'll wake bright, and, in a safe skin, hugYour sound selves, Tab and you, over a foaming jug!You 've had such qualms before, time out of mind!' He 's right!Did not we kick and cuff and curse away, that nightWhen home we blindly reeled, and left poor humpback JoeI' the lurch to pay for what ... somebody did, you know!Both of us maundered then, 'Lame humpback, —never moreWill he come limping, drain his tankard at our door!He 'll swing, while—somebody' ... Says Tab, 'No, for I 'll peach!''I 'm for you, Tab,' cries I, 'there 's rope enough for each!'So blubbered we, and bussed, and went to bed uponThe grace of Tab's good thought: by morning, all was gone!We laughed—'What 's life to him, a cripple of no account?'Oh, waves increase around—I feel them mount and mount!Hang us! To-morrow brings Tom Bearward with his bears:One new black-muzzled brute beats Sackerson, he swears:(Sackerson, for my money!) And, baiting o'er, the BrawlThey lead on Turner's Patch,—lads, lasses, up tails all,—I 'm i' the thick o' the throng! That means the Iron Cage,—Means the Lost Man inside! Where 's hope for such as wageWar against light? Light 's left, light 's here, I hold light still,So does Tab—make but haste to hang us both! You will?"I promise, when he stopped you might have heard a mouseSqueak, such a death-like hush sealed up the old Mote House.But when the mass of man sank meek upon his knees,While Tab, alongside, wheezed a hoarse "Do hang us, please!"Why, then the waters rose, no eye but ran with tears,Hearts heaved, heads thumped, until, paying all past arrearsOf pity and sorrow, at last a regular scream outbrokeOf triumph, joy, and praise.My Lord Chief Justice spoke,First mopping brow and cheek, where still, for one that budged,Another bead broke fresh: "What Judge, that ever judgedSince first the world began, judged such a case as this?Why, Master Bratts, long since, folks smelt you out, I wis!I had my doubts, i' faith, each time you played the foxConvicting geese of crime in yonder witness-box—Yea, much did I misdoubt, the thief that stole her eggsWas hardly goosey's self at Reynard's game, i' feggs!Yet thus much was to praise—you spoke to point, direct—Swore you heard, saw the theft: no jury could suspect—Dared to suspect,—I 'll say,—a spot in white so clear:Goosey was throttled, true: but thereof godly fearCame of example set, much as our laws intend;And, though a fox confessed, you proved the Judge's friend.What if I had my doubts? Suppose I gave them breath,Brought you to bar: what work to do, ere 'Guilty, Death'Had paid our pains! What heaps of witnesses to dragFrom holes and corners, paid from out the County's bag!Trial three dog-days long!Amicus Curiæ—that 'sYour title, no dispute—truth-telling Master Bratts!Thank you, too, Mistress Tab! Why doubt one word you say?Hanging you both deserve, hanged both shall be this day!The tinker needs must be a proper man. I 've heardHe lies in Jail long since: if Quality's good wordWarrants me letting loose,—some householder, I mean—Freeholder, better still,—I don't say but—betweenNow and next Sessions ... Well! Consider of his case,I promise to, at least: we owe him so much grace.Not that—no, God forbid!—I lean to think as you,The grace that such repent is any jail-bird's due:I rather see the fruit of twelve years' pious reign—Astræa Redux, Charles restored his rights again!—Of which, another time! I somehow feel a peaceStealing across the world. May deeds like this increase!So, Master Sheriff, stay that sentence I pronouncedOn those two dozen odd: deserving to be trouncedSoundly, and yet ... well, well, at all events dispatchThis pair of—shall I say, sinner-saints?—ere we catchTheir jail-distemper too. Stop tears, or I 'll inditeAll weeping Bedfordshire for turning Bunyanite!"So, forms were galloped through. If Justice, on the spur,Proved somewhat expeditious, would Quality demur?And happily hanged were they,—why lengthen out my tale?—Where Bunyan's Statue stands facing where stood his Jail.

'T was Bedford Special Assize, one daft Midsummer's Day:

A broiling blasting June,—was never its like, men say.

Corn stood sheaf-ripe already, and trees looked yellow as that;

Ponds drained dust-dry, the cattle lay foaming around each flat.

Inside town, dogs went mad, and folk kept bibbing beer,

While the parsons prayed for rain. 'T was horrible, yes—but queer:

Queer—for the sun laughed gay, yet nobody moved a hand

To work one stroke at his trade: as given to understand

That all was come to a stop, work and such worldly ways,

And the world's old self about to end in a merry blaze,

Midsummer's day moreover was the first of Bedford Fair;

With Bedford Town's tag-rag and bobtail a-bowsing there.

But the Court House, Quality crammed: through doors ope, windows wide,High on the Bench you saw sit Lordships side by side.There frowned Chief Justice Jukes, fumed learned Brother Small,And fretted their fellow Judge: like threshers, one and all,Of a reek with laying down the law in a furnace. Why?Because their lungs breathed flame—the regular crowd forbye—From gentry pouring in—quite a nosegay, to be sure!How else could they pass the time, six mortal hours endureTill night should extinguish day, when matters might haply mend?Meanwhile no bad resource was—watching begin and endSome trial for life and death, in a brisk five minutes' space,And betting which knave would 'scape, which hang, from his sort of face.

But the Court House, Quality crammed: through doors ope, windows wide,

High on the Bench you saw sit Lordships side by side.

There frowned Chief Justice Jukes, fumed learned Brother Small,

And fretted their fellow Judge: like threshers, one and all,

Of a reek with laying down the law in a furnace. Why?

Because their lungs breathed flame—the regular crowd forbye—

From gentry pouring in—quite a nosegay, to be sure!

How else could they pass the time, six mortal hours endure

Till night should extinguish day, when matters might haply mend?

Meanwhile no bad resource was—watching begin and end

Some trial for life and death, in a brisk five minutes' space,

And betting which knave would 'scape, which hang, from his sort of face.

So, their Lordships toiled and moiled, and a deal of work was done(I warrant) to justify the mirth of the crazy sun,As this and t' other lout, struck dumb at the sudden showOf red robes and white wigs, boggled nor answered "Boh!"When asked why he, Tom Styles, should not—because Jack NokesHad stolen the horse—be hanged: for Judges must have their jokes,And louts must make allowance—let 's say, for some blue flyWhich punctured a dewy scalp where the frizzles stuck awry—Else Tom had fleered scot-free, so nearly over and doneWas the main of the job. Full-measure, the gentles enjoyed their fun,As a twenty-five were tried, rank puritans caught at prayerIn a cow-house and laid by the heels,—have at 'em, devil may care!—And ten were prescribed the whip, and ten a brand on the cheek,And five a slit of the nose—just leaving enough to tweak.

So, their Lordships toiled and moiled, and a deal of work was done

(I warrant) to justify the mirth of the crazy sun,

As this and t' other lout, struck dumb at the sudden show

Of red robes and white wigs, boggled nor answered "Boh!"

When asked why he, Tom Styles, should not—because Jack Nokes

Had stolen the horse—be hanged: for Judges must have their jokes,

And louts must make allowance—let 's say, for some blue fly

Which punctured a dewy scalp where the frizzles stuck awry—

Else Tom had fleered scot-free, so nearly over and done

Was the main of the job. Full-measure, the gentles enjoyed their fun,

As a twenty-five were tried, rank puritans caught at prayer

In a cow-house and laid by the heels,—have at 'em, devil may care!—

And ten were prescribed the whip, and ten a brand on the cheek,

And five a slit of the nose—just leaving enough to tweak.

Well, things at jolly high-tide, amusement steeped in fire,While noon smote fierce the roof's red tiles to heart's desire,The Court a-simmer with smoke, one ferment of oozy flesh,One spirituous humming musk mount-mounting until its meshEntoiled all heads in a fluster, and Serjeant Postlethwayte—Dashing the wig oblique as he mopped his oily pate—Cried "Silence, or I grow grease! No loophole lets in air?Jurymen,—Guilty, Death! Gainsay me if you dare!"—Things at this pitch, I say,—what hubbub without the doors?What laughs, shrieks, hoots and yells, what rudest of uproars?

Well, things at jolly high-tide, amusement steeped in fire,

While noon smote fierce the roof's red tiles to heart's desire,

The Court a-simmer with smoke, one ferment of oozy flesh,

One spirituous humming musk mount-mounting until its mesh

Entoiled all heads in a fluster, and Serjeant Postlethwayte

—Dashing the wig oblique as he mopped his oily pate—

Cried "Silence, or I grow grease! No loophole lets in air?

Jurymen,—Guilty, Death! Gainsay me if you dare!"

—Things at this pitch, I say,—what hubbub without the doors?

What laughs, shrieks, hoots and yells, what rudest of uproars?

Bounce through the barrier throng a bulk comes rolling vast!Thumps, kicks,—no manner of use!—spite of them rolls at lastInto the midst a ball, which, bursting, brings to viewPublican Black Ned Bratts and Tabby his big wife too:Both in a muck-sweat, both ... were never such eyes upliftAt the sight of yawning hell, such nostrils—snouts that sniffedSulphur, such mouths agape ready to swallow flame!Horrified, hideous, frank fiend-faces! yet, all the same,Mixed with a certain ... eh? how shall I dare style—mirthThe desperate grin of the guess that, could they break from earth,Heaven was above, and hell might rage in impotenceBelow the saved, the saved!

Bounce through the barrier throng a bulk comes rolling vast!

Thumps, kicks,—no manner of use!—spite of them rolls at last

Into the midst a ball, which, bursting, brings to view

Publican Black Ned Bratts and Tabby his big wife too:

Both in a muck-sweat, both ... were never such eyes uplift

At the sight of yawning hell, such nostrils—snouts that sniffed

Sulphur, such mouths agape ready to swallow flame!

Horrified, hideous, frank fiend-faces! yet, all the same,

Mixed with a certain ... eh? how shall I dare style—mirth

The desperate grin of the guess that, could they break from earth,

Heaven was above, and hell might rage in impotence

Below the saved, the saved!

"Confound you! (no offence!)Out of our way,—push, wife! Yonder their Worships be!"Ned Bratts has reached the bar, and "Hey, my Lords," roars he,"A Jury of life and death, Judges the prime of the land,Constables, javelineers,—all met, if I understand,To decide so knotty a point as whether 't was Jack or JoanRobbed the henroost, pinched the pig, hit the King's Arms with a stone,Dropped the baby down the well, left the tithesman in the lurch,Or, three whole Sundays running, not once attended church!What a pother—do these deserve the parish-stocks or whip,More or less brow to brand, much or little nose to snip,—When, in our Public, plain stand we—that 's we stand hereI and my Tab, brass-bold, brick-built of beef and beer,—Do not we, slut? Step forth and show your beauty, jade!Wife of my bosom—that 's the word now! What a tradeWe drove! None said us nay: nobody loved his lifeSo little as wag a tongue against us,—did they, wife?Yet they knew us all the while, in their hearts, for what we are—Worst couple, rogue and quean, unhanged—search near and far!Eh, Tab? The peddler, now—o'er his noggin—who warned a mateTo cut and run, nor risk his pack where its loss of weightWas the least to dread,—aha, how we two laughed a-goodAs, stealing round the midden, he came on where I stoodWith billet poised and raised,—you, ready with the rope,—Ah, but that 's past, that 's sin repented of, we hope!Men knew us for that same, yet safe and sound stood we!The lily-livered knaves knew too (I 've balked a d——)Our keeping the 'Pied Bull' was just a mere pretence:Too slow the pounds make food, drink, lodging, from out the pence!There 's not a stoppage to travel has chanced, this ten long year,No break into hall or grange, no lifting of nag or steer,Not a single roguery, from the clipping of a purseTo the cutting of a throat, but paid us toll. Od's curse!When Gypsy Smouch made bold to cheat us of our due,—Eh, Tab? the Squire's strong-box we helped the rascal to—I think he pulled a face, next Sessions' swinging-time!He danced the jig that needs no floor,—and, here 's the prime,'T was Scroggs that houghed the mare! Ay, those were busy days!

"Confound you! (no offence!)

Out of our way,—push, wife! Yonder their Worships be!"

Ned Bratts has reached the bar, and "Hey, my Lords," roars he,

"A Jury of life and death, Judges the prime of the land,

Constables, javelineers,—all met, if I understand,

To decide so knotty a point as whether 't was Jack or Joan

Robbed the henroost, pinched the pig, hit the King's Arms with a stone,

Dropped the baby down the well, left the tithesman in the lurch,

Or, three whole Sundays running, not once attended church!

What a pother—do these deserve the parish-stocks or whip,

More or less brow to brand, much or little nose to snip,—

When, in our Public, plain stand we—that 's we stand here

I and my Tab, brass-bold, brick-built of beef and beer,

—Do not we, slut? Step forth and show your beauty, jade!

Wife of my bosom—that 's the word now! What a trade

We drove! None said us nay: nobody loved his life

So little as wag a tongue against us,—did they, wife?

Yet they knew us all the while, in their hearts, for what we are

—Worst couple, rogue and quean, unhanged—search near and far!

Eh, Tab? The peddler, now—o'er his noggin—who warned a mate

To cut and run, nor risk his pack where its loss of weight

Was the least to dread,—aha, how we two laughed a-good

As, stealing round the midden, he came on where I stood

With billet poised and raised,—you, ready with the rope,—

Ah, but that 's past, that 's sin repented of, we hope!

Men knew us for that same, yet safe and sound stood we!

The lily-livered knaves knew too (I 've balked a d——)

Our keeping the 'Pied Bull' was just a mere pretence:

Too slow the pounds make food, drink, lodging, from out the pence!

There 's not a stoppage to travel has chanced, this ten long year,

No break into hall or grange, no lifting of nag or steer,

Not a single roguery, from the clipping of a purse

To the cutting of a throat, but paid us toll. Od's curse!

When Gypsy Smouch made bold to cheat us of our due,

—Eh, Tab? the Squire's strong-box we helped the rascal to—

I think he pulled a face, next Sessions' swinging-time!

He danced the jig that needs no floor,—and, here 's the prime,

'T was Scroggs that houghed the mare! Ay, those were busy days!

"Well, there we flourished brave, like scripture-trees called bays,Faring high, drinking hard, in money up to head—Not to say, boots and shoes, when ... Zounds, I nearly said—Lord, to unlearn one's language! How shall we labor, wife?Have you, fast hold, the Book? Grasp, grip it, for your life!See, sirs, here 's life, salvation! Here 's—hold but out my breath—When did I speak so long without once swearing? 'Sdeath,No, nor unhelped by ale since man and boy! And yetAll yesterday I had to keep my whistle wetWhile reading Tab this Book: book? don't say 'book'—they 're plays,Songs, ballads, and the like: here 's no such strawy blaze,But sky wide ope, sun, moon, and seven stars out full-flare!Tab, help and tell! I 'm hoarse. A mug! or —no, a prayer!Dip for one out of the Book! Who wrote it in the Jail—He plied his pen unhelped by beer, sirs, I 'll be bail!

"Well, there we flourished brave, like scripture-trees called bays,

Faring high, drinking hard, in money up to head

—Not to say, boots and shoes, when ... Zounds, I nearly said—

Lord, to unlearn one's language! How shall we labor, wife?

Have you, fast hold, the Book? Grasp, grip it, for your life!

See, sirs, here 's life, salvation! Here 's—hold but out my breath—

When did I speak so long without once swearing? 'Sdeath,

No, nor unhelped by ale since man and boy! And yet

All yesterday I had to keep my whistle wet

While reading Tab this Book: book? don't say 'book'—they 're plays,

Songs, ballads, and the like: here 's no such strawy blaze,

But sky wide ope, sun, moon, and seven stars out full-flare!

Tab, help and tell! I 'm hoarse. A mug! or —no, a prayer!

Dip for one out of the Book! Who wrote it in the Jail

—He plied his pen unhelped by beer, sirs, I 'll be bail!

"I 've got my second wind. In trundles she—that 's Tab.'Why, Gammer, what 's come now, that—bobbing like a crabOn Yule-tide bowl—your head 's a-work and both your eyesBreak loose? Afeard, you fool? As if the dead can rise!Say—Bagman Dick was found last May with fuddling-capStuffed in his month: to choke 's a natural mishap!''Gaffer, be—blessed,' cries she, 'and Bagman Dick as well!I, you, and he are damned: this Public is our hell:We live in fire: live coals don't feel!—once quenched, they learn—Cinders do, to what dust they moulder while they burn!'

"I 've got my second wind. In trundles she—that 's Tab.

'Why, Gammer, what 's come now, that—bobbing like a crab

On Yule-tide bowl—your head 's a-work and both your eyes

Break loose? Afeard, you fool? As if the dead can rise!

Say—Bagman Dick was found last May with fuddling-cap

Stuffed in his month: to choke 's a natural mishap!'

'Gaffer, be—blessed,' cries she, 'and Bagman Dick as well!

I, you, and he are damned: this Public is our hell:

We live in fire: live coals don't feel!—once quenched, they learn—

Cinders do, to what dust they moulder while they burn!'

"'If you don't speak straight out,' says I—belike I swore—'A knobstick, well you know the taste of, shall, once more,Teach you to talk, my maid!' She ups with such a face,Heart sunk inside me. 'Well, pad on, my prate-apace!'

"'If you don't speak straight out,' says I—belike I swore—

'A knobstick, well you know the taste of, shall, once more,

Teach you to talk, my maid!' She ups with such a face,

Heart sunk inside me. 'Well, pad on, my prate-apace!'

"'I 've been about those laces we need for ... never mind!If henceforth they tie hands, 't is mine they 'll have to bind.You know who makes them best—the Tinker in our cage,Pulled-up for gospelling, twelve years ago: no ageTo try another trade,—yet, so he scorned to takeMoney he did not earn, he taught himself the makeOf laces, tagged and tough—Dick Bagman found them so!Good customers were we! Well, last week, you must know,His girl,—the blind young chit, who hawks about his wares,—She takes it in her head to come no more—such airsThese hussies have! Yet, since we need a stoutish lace,—"I 'll to the jail-bird father, abuse her to his face!"So, first I filled a jug to give me heart, and then,Primed to the proper pitch, I posted to their den—Patmore, they style their prison! I tip the turnkey, catchMy heart up, fix my face, and fearless lift the latch—Both arms akimbo, in bounce with a good round oathReady for rapping out: no "Lawks" nor "By my troth!"

"'I 've been about those laces we need for ... never mind!

If henceforth they tie hands, 't is mine they 'll have to bind.

You know who makes them best—the Tinker in our cage,

Pulled-up for gospelling, twelve years ago: no age

To try another trade,—yet, so he scorned to take

Money he did not earn, he taught himself the make

Of laces, tagged and tough—Dick Bagman found them so!

Good customers were we! Well, last week, you must know,

His girl,—the blind young chit, who hawks about his wares,—

She takes it in her head to come no more—such airs

These hussies have! Yet, since we need a stoutish lace,—

"I 'll to the jail-bird father, abuse her to his face!"

So, first I filled a jug to give me heart, and then,

Primed to the proper pitch, I posted to their den—

Patmore, they style their prison! I tip the turnkey, catch

My heart up, fix my face, and fearless lift the latch—

Both arms akimbo, in bounce with a good round oath

Ready for rapping out: no "Lawks" nor "By my troth!"

"'There sat my man, the father. He looked up: what one feelsWhen heart that leapt to mouth drops down again to heels!He raised his hand ... Hast seen, when drinking out the night,And in, the day, earth grow another something quiteUnder the sun's first stare? I stood a very stone.

"'There sat my man, the father. He looked up: what one feels

When heart that leapt to mouth drops down again to heels!

He raised his hand ... Hast seen, when drinking out the night,

And in, the day, earth grow another something quite

Under the sun's first stare? I stood a very stone.

"'"Woman!" (a fiery tear he put in every tone),"How should my child frequent your house where lust is sport,Violence—trade? Too true! I trust no vague report.Her angel's hand, which stops the sight of sin, leaves clearThe other gate of sense, lets outrage through the ear.What has she heard!—which, heard shall never be again.Better lack food than feast, a Dives in the—wainOr reign or train—of Charles!" (His language was not ours:'T is my belief, God spoke: no tinker has such powers.)"Bread, only bread they bring—my laces: if we brokeYour lump of leavened sin, the loaf's first crumb would choke!"

"'"Woman!" (a fiery tear he put in every tone),

"How should my child frequent your house where lust is sport,

Violence—trade? Too true! I trust no vague report.

Her angel's hand, which stops the sight of sin, leaves clear

The other gate of sense, lets outrage through the ear.

What has she heard!—which, heard shall never be again.

Better lack food than feast, a Dives in the—wain

Or reign or train—of Charles!" (His language was not ours:

'T is my belief, God spoke: no tinker has such powers.)

"Bread, only bread they bring—my laces: if we broke

Your lump of leavened sin, the loaf's first crumb would choke!"

"'Down on my marrow-bones! Then all at once rose he:His brown hair burst a-spread, his eyes were suns to see:Up went his hands: "Through flesh, I reach, I read thy soul!So may some stricken tree look blasted, bough and bole,Champed by the fire-tooth, charred without, and yet, thrice-boundWith dreriment about, within may life be found,A prisoned power to branch and blossom as before,Could but the gardener cleave the cloister, reach the core,Loosen the vital sap: yet where shall help be found?Who says 'How save it?'—nor 'Why cumbers it the ground?'Woman, that tree art thou! All sloughed about with scurf,Thy stag-horns fright the sky, thy snake-roots sting the turf!Drunkenness, wantonness, theft, murder gnash and gnarlThine outward, case thy soul with coating like the marleSatan stamps flat upon each head beneath his hoof!And how deliver such? The strong men keep aloof,Lover and friend stand far, the mocking ones pass by,Tophet gapes wide for prey: lost soul, despair and die!What then? 'Look unto me and be ye saved!' saith God:'I strike the rock, outstreats the life-stream at my rod![9]Be your sins scarlet, wool shall they seem like, —althoughAs crimson red, yet turn white as the driven snow!'"

"'Down on my marrow-bones! Then all at once rose he:

His brown hair burst a-spread, his eyes were suns to see:

Up went his hands: "Through flesh, I reach, I read thy soul!

So may some stricken tree look blasted, bough and bole,

Champed by the fire-tooth, charred without, and yet, thrice-bound

With dreriment about, within may life be found,

A prisoned power to branch and blossom as before,

Could but the gardener cleave the cloister, reach the core,

Loosen the vital sap: yet where shall help be found?

Who says 'How save it?'—nor 'Why cumbers it the ground?'

Woman, that tree art thou! All sloughed about with scurf,

Thy stag-horns fright the sky, thy snake-roots sting the turf!

Drunkenness, wantonness, theft, murder gnash and gnarl

Thine outward, case thy soul with coating like the marle

Satan stamps flat upon each head beneath his hoof!

And how deliver such? The strong men keep aloof,

Lover and friend stand far, the mocking ones pass by,

Tophet gapes wide for prey: lost soul, despair and die!

What then? 'Look unto me and be ye saved!' saith God:

'I strike the rock, outstreats the life-stream at my rod![9]

Be your sins scarlet, wool shall they seem like, —although

As crimson red, yet turn white as the driven snow!'"

"'There, there, there! All I seem to somehow understandIs—that, if I reached home, 't was through the guiding handOf his blind girl which led and led me through the streetsAnd out of town and up to door again. What greetsFirst thing my eye, as limbs recover from their swoon?A book—this Book she gave at parting. "Father's boon—The Book he wrote: it reads as if he spoke himself:He cannot preach in bonds, so,—take it down from shelfWhen you want counsel,—think you hear his very voice!

"'There, there, there! All I seem to somehow understand

Is—that, if I reached home, 't was through the guiding hand

Of his blind girl which led and led me through the streets

And out of town and up to door again. What greets

First thing my eye, as limbs recover from their swoon?

A book—this Book she gave at parting. "Father's boon—

The Book he wrote: it reads as if he spoke himself:

He cannot preach in bonds, so,—take it down from shelf

When you want counsel,—think you hear his very voice!

"'Wicked dear Husband, first despair and then rejoice!Dear wicked Husband, waste no tick of moment more,Be saved like me, bald trunk! There 's greenness yet at core,Sap under slough! Read, read!'

"'Wicked dear Husband, first despair and then rejoice!

Dear wicked Husband, waste no tick of moment more,

Be saved like me, bald trunk! There 's greenness yet at core,

Sap under slough! Read, read!'

"Let me take breath, my lords!I 'd like to know, are these—hers, mine, or Bunyan's words?I 'm 'wildered—scarce with drink,—nowise with drink alone!You 'll say, with heat: but heat 's no stuff to split a stoneLike this black boulder—this flint heart of mine: the Book—That dealt the crashing blow! Sirs, here 's the fist that shookHis beard till Wrestler Jem howled like a just-lugged bear!You had brained me with a feather: at once I grew awareChristmas was meant for me. A burden at your back,Good Master Christmas? Nay,—yours was that Joseph's sack,—Or whose it was,—which held the cup,—compared with mine!Robbery loads my loins, perjury cracks my chine,Adultery ... nay, Tab, you pitched me as I flung!One word, I 'll up with fist ... No, sweet spouse, hold your tongue!

"Let me take breath, my lords!

I 'd like to know, are these—hers, mine, or Bunyan's words?

I 'm 'wildered—scarce with drink,—nowise with drink alone!

You 'll say, with heat: but heat 's no stuff to split a stone

Like this black boulder—this flint heart of mine: the Book—

That dealt the crashing blow! Sirs, here 's the fist that shook

His beard till Wrestler Jem howled like a just-lugged bear!

You had brained me with a feather: at once I grew aware

Christmas was meant for me. A burden at your back,

Good Master Christmas? Nay,—yours was that Joseph's sack,

—Or whose it was,—which held the cup,—compared with mine!

Robbery loads my loins, perjury cracks my chine,

Adultery ... nay, Tab, you pitched me as I flung!

One word, I 'll up with fist ... No, sweet spouse, hold your tongue!

"I 'm hasting to the end. The Book, sirs—take and read!You have my history in a nutshell,—ay, indeed!It must off, my burden! See,—slack straps and into pit,Roll, reach the bottom, rest, rot there—a plague on it!For a mountain 's sure to fall and bury Bedford Town,'Destruction'—that 's the name, and fire shall burn it down!Oh, 'scape the wrath in time! Time 's now, if not too late.How can I pilgrimage up to the wicket-gate?Next comes Despond the slough: not that I fear to pullThrough mud, and dry my clothes at brave House Beautiful—But it 's late in the day, I reckon: had I left years agoTown, wife, and children dear ... Well, Christmas did, you know!—Soon I had met in the valley and tried my cudgel's strengthOn the enemy horned and winged, a-straddle across its length!Have at his horns, thwick—thwack: they snap, see! Hoof and hoof—Bang, break the fetlock-bones! For love's sake, keep aloofAngels! I 'm man and match,—this cudgel for my flail,—To thresh him, hoofs and horns, bat's wing and serpent's tail!A chance gone by! But then, what else does Hopeful dingInto the deafest ear except—hope, hope 's the thing?Too late i' the day for me to thrid the windings: butThere 's still a way to win the race by death's short cut!Did Master Faithful need climb the Delightful Mounts?No, straight to Vanity Fair,—a fair, by all accounts,Such as is held outside,—lords, ladies, grand and gay,—Says he in the face of them, just what you hear me say.And the Judges brought him in guilty, and brought him outTo die in the market-place—St. Peter's Green 's aboutThe same thing: there they flogged, flayed, buffeted, lanced with knives,Pricked him with swords,—I 'll swear, he 'd full a cat's nine lives,—So to his end at last came Faithful,—ha, ha, he!Who holds the highest card? for there stands hid, you see,Behind the rabble-rout, a chariot, pair and all:He 's in, he 's off, he 's up, through clouds, at trumpet-call,Carried the nearest way to Heaven-gate-! Odds my life—Has nobody a sword to spare? not even a knife?Then hang me, draw and quarter! Tab—do the same by her!O Master Worldly-Wiseman ... that 's Master Interpreter,Take the will, not the deed! Our gibbet 's handy, close:Forestall Last Judgment-Day! Be kindly, not morose!There wants no earthly judge-and-jurying: here we stand—Sentence our guilty selves: so, hang us out of hand!Make haste for pity's sake! A single moment's lossMeans—Satan 's lord once more: his whisper shoots acrossAll singing in my heart, all praying in my brain,'It comes of heat and beer!'—hark how he guffaws plain!'To-morrow you 'll wake bright, and, in a safe skin, hugYour sound selves, Tab and you, over a foaming jug!You 've had such qualms before, time out of mind!' He 's right!Did not we kick and cuff and curse away, that nightWhen home we blindly reeled, and left poor humpback JoeI' the lurch to pay for what ... somebody did, you know!Both of us maundered then, 'Lame humpback, —never moreWill he come limping, drain his tankard at our door!He 'll swing, while—somebody' ... Says Tab, 'No, for I 'll peach!''I 'm for you, Tab,' cries I, 'there 's rope enough for each!'So blubbered we, and bussed, and went to bed uponThe grace of Tab's good thought: by morning, all was gone!We laughed—'What 's life to him, a cripple of no account?'Oh, waves increase around—I feel them mount and mount!Hang us! To-morrow brings Tom Bearward with his bears:One new black-muzzled brute beats Sackerson, he swears:(Sackerson, for my money!) And, baiting o'er, the BrawlThey lead on Turner's Patch,—lads, lasses, up tails all,—I 'm i' the thick o' the throng! That means the Iron Cage,—Means the Lost Man inside! Where 's hope for such as wageWar against light? Light 's left, light 's here, I hold light still,So does Tab—make but haste to hang us both! You will?"

"I 'm hasting to the end. The Book, sirs—take and read!

You have my history in a nutshell,—ay, indeed!

It must off, my burden! See,—slack straps and into pit,

Roll, reach the bottom, rest, rot there—a plague on it!

For a mountain 's sure to fall and bury Bedford Town,

'Destruction'—that 's the name, and fire shall burn it down!

Oh, 'scape the wrath in time! Time 's now, if not too late.

How can I pilgrimage up to the wicket-gate?

Next comes Despond the slough: not that I fear to pull

Through mud, and dry my clothes at brave House Beautiful—

But it 's late in the day, I reckon: had I left years ago

Town, wife, and children dear ... Well, Christmas did, you know!—

Soon I had met in the valley and tried my cudgel's strength

On the enemy horned and winged, a-straddle across its length!

Have at his horns, thwick—thwack: they snap, see! Hoof and hoof—

Bang, break the fetlock-bones! For love's sake, keep aloof

Angels! I 'm man and match,—this cudgel for my flail,—

To thresh him, hoofs and horns, bat's wing and serpent's tail!

A chance gone by! But then, what else does Hopeful ding

Into the deafest ear except—hope, hope 's the thing?

Too late i' the day for me to thrid the windings: but

There 's still a way to win the race by death's short cut!

Did Master Faithful need climb the Delightful Mounts?

No, straight to Vanity Fair,—a fair, by all accounts,

Such as is held outside,—lords, ladies, grand and gay,—

Says he in the face of them, just what you hear me say.

And the Judges brought him in guilty, and brought him out

To die in the market-place—St. Peter's Green 's about

The same thing: there they flogged, flayed, buffeted, lanced with knives,

Pricked him with swords,—I 'll swear, he 'd full a cat's nine lives,—

So to his end at last came Faithful,—ha, ha, he!

Who holds the highest card? for there stands hid, you see,

Behind the rabble-rout, a chariot, pair and all:

He 's in, he 's off, he 's up, through clouds, at trumpet-call,

Carried the nearest way to Heaven-gate-! Odds my life—

Has nobody a sword to spare? not even a knife?

Then hang me, draw and quarter! Tab—do the same by her!

O Master Worldly-Wiseman ... that 's Master Interpreter,

Take the will, not the deed! Our gibbet 's handy, close:

Forestall Last Judgment-Day! Be kindly, not morose!

There wants no earthly judge-and-jurying: here we stand—

Sentence our guilty selves: so, hang us out of hand!

Make haste for pity's sake! A single moment's loss

Means—Satan 's lord once more: his whisper shoots across

All singing in my heart, all praying in my brain,

'It comes of heat and beer!'—hark how he guffaws plain!

'To-morrow you 'll wake bright, and, in a safe skin, hug

Your sound selves, Tab and you, over a foaming jug!

You 've had such qualms before, time out of mind!' He 's right!

Did not we kick and cuff and curse away, that night

When home we blindly reeled, and left poor humpback Joe

I' the lurch to pay for what ... somebody did, you know!

Both of us maundered then, 'Lame humpback, —never more

Will he come limping, drain his tankard at our door!

He 'll swing, while—somebody' ... Says Tab, 'No, for I 'll peach!'

'I 'm for you, Tab,' cries I, 'there 's rope enough for each!'

So blubbered we, and bussed, and went to bed upon

The grace of Tab's good thought: by morning, all was gone!

We laughed—'What 's life to him, a cripple of no account?'

Oh, waves increase around—I feel them mount and mount!

Hang us! To-morrow brings Tom Bearward with his bears:

One new black-muzzled brute beats Sackerson, he swears:

(Sackerson, for my money!) And, baiting o'er, the Brawl

They lead on Turner's Patch,—lads, lasses, up tails all,—

I 'm i' the thick o' the throng! That means the Iron Cage,

—Means the Lost Man inside! Where 's hope for such as wage

War against light? Light 's left, light 's here, I hold light still,

So does Tab—make but haste to hang us both! You will?"

I promise, when he stopped you might have heard a mouseSqueak, such a death-like hush sealed up the old Mote House.But when the mass of man sank meek upon his knees,While Tab, alongside, wheezed a hoarse "Do hang us, please!"Why, then the waters rose, no eye but ran with tears,Hearts heaved, heads thumped, until, paying all past arrearsOf pity and sorrow, at last a regular scream outbrokeOf triumph, joy, and praise.

I promise, when he stopped you might have heard a mouse

Squeak, such a death-like hush sealed up the old Mote House.

But when the mass of man sank meek upon his knees,

While Tab, alongside, wheezed a hoarse "Do hang us, please!"

Why, then the waters rose, no eye but ran with tears,

Hearts heaved, heads thumped, until, paying all past arrears

Of pity and sorrow, at last a regular scream outbroke

Of triumph, joy, and praise.

My Lord Chief Justice spoke,First mopping brow and cheek, where still, for one that budged,Another bead broke fresh: "What Judge, that ever judgedSince first the world began, judged such a case as this?Why, Master Bratts, long since, folks smelt you out, I wis!I had my doubts, i' faith, each time you played the foxConvicting geese of crime in yonder witness-box—Yea, much did I misdoubt, the thief that stole her eggsWas hardly goosey's self at Reynard's game, i' feggs!Yet thus much was to praise—you spoke to point, direct—Swore you heard, saw the theft: no jury could suspect—Dared to suspect,—I 'll say,—a spot in white so clear:Goosey was throttled, true: but thereof godly fearCame of example set, much as our laws intend;And, though a fox confessed, you proved the Judge's friend.What if I had my doubts? Suppose I gave them breath,Brought you to bar: what work to do, ere 'Guilty, Death'Had paid our pains! What heaps of witnesses to dragFrom holes and corners, paid from out the County's bag!Trial three dog-days long!Amicus Curiæ—that 'sYour title, no dispute—truth-telling Master Bratts!Thank you, too, Mistress Tab! Why doubt one word you say?Hanging you both deserve, hanged both shall be this day!The tinker needs must be a proper man. I 've heardHe lies in Jail long since: if Quality's good wordWarrants me letting loose,—some householder, I mean—Freeholder, better still,—I don't say but—betweenNow and next Sessions ... Well! Consider of his case,I promise to, at least: we owe him so much grace.Not that—no, God forbid!—I lean to think as you,The grace that such repent is any jail-bird's due:I rather see the fruit of twelve years' pious reign—Astræa Redux, Charles restored his rights again!—Of which, another time! I somehow feel a peaceStealing across the world. May deeds like this increase!So, Master Sheriff, stay that sentence I pronouncedOn those two dozen odd: deserving to be trouncedSoundly, and yet ... well, well, at all events dispatchThis pair of—shall I say, sinner-saints?—ere we catchTheir jail-distemper too. Stop tears, or I 'll inditeAll weeping Bedfordshire for turning Bunyanite!"

My Lord Chief Justice spoke,

First mopping brow and cheek, where still, for one that budged,

Another bead broke fresh: "What Judge, that ever judged

Since first the world began, judged such a case as this?

Why, Master Bratts, long since, folks smelt you out, I wis!

I had my doubts, i' faith, each time you played the fox

Convicting geese of crime in yonder witness-box—

Yea, much did I misdoubt, the thief that stole her eggs

Was hardly goosey's self at Reynard's game, i' feggs!

Yet thus much was to praise—you spoke to point, direct—

Swore you heard, saw the theft: no jury could suspect—

Dared to suspect,—I 'll say,—a spot in white so clear:

Goosey was throttled, true: but thereof godly fear

Came of example set, much as our laws intend;

And, though a fox confessed, you proved the Judge's friend.

What if I had my doubts? Suppose I gave them breath,

Brought you to bar: what work to do, ere 'Guilty, Death'

Had paid our pains! What heaps of witnesses to drag

From holes and corners, paid from out the County's bag!

Trial three dog-days long!Amicus Curiæ—that 's

Your title, no dispute—truth-telling Master Bratts!

Thank you, too, Mistress Tab! Why doubt one word you say?

Hanging you both deserve, hanged both shall be this day!

The tinker needs must be a proper man. I 've heard

He lies in Jail long since: if Quality's good word

Warrants me letting loose,—some householder, I mean—

Freeholder, better still,—I don't say but—between

Now and next Sessions ... Well! Consider of his case,

I promise to, at least: we owe him so much grace.

Not that—no, God forbid!—I lean to think as you,

The grace that such repent is any jail-bird's due:

I rather see the fruit of twelve years' pious reign—

Astræa Redux, Charles restored his rights again!

—Of which, another time! I somehow feel a peace

Stealing across the world. May deeds like this increase!

So, Master Sheriff, stay that sentence I pronounced

On those two dozen odd: deserving to be trounced

Soundly, and yet ... well, well, at all events dispatch

This pair of—shall I say, sinner-saints?—ere we catch

Their jail-distemper too. Stop tears, or I 'll indite

All weeping Bedfordshire for turning Bunyanite!"

So, forms were galloped through. If Justice, on the spur,Proved somewhat expeditious, would Quality demur?And happily hanged were they,—why lengthen out my tale?—Where Bunyan's Statue stands facing where stood his Jail.

So, forms were galloped through. If Justice, on the spur,

Proved somewhat expeditious, would Quality demur?

And happily hanged were they,—why lengthen out my tale?—

Where Bunyan's Statue stands facing where stood his Jail.

"You are sick, that 's sure,"—they say:"Sick of what?"—they disagree."'T is the brain,"—thinks Doctor A;"'T is the heart,"—holds Doctor B;"The liver—my life I 'd lay!""The lungs!" "The lights!"Ah me!So ignorant of man's wholeOf bodily organs plain to see—So sage and certain, frank and free,About what 's under lock and key—Man's soul!

"You are sick, that 's sure,"—they say:

"Sick of what?"—they disagree.

"'T is the brain,"—thinks Doctor A;

"'T is the heart,"—holds Doctor B;

"The liver—my life I 'd lay!"

"The lungs!" "The lights!"

Ah me!

So ignorant of man's whole

Of bodily organs plain to see—

So sage and certain, frank and free,

About what 's under lock and key—

Man's soul!

Here is a story, shall stir you! Stand up, Greeks dead and gone,Who breasted, beat Barbarians, stemmed Persia rolling on,Did the deed and saved the world, for the day was Marathon!No man but did his manliest, kept rank and fought awayIn his tribe and file: up, back, out, down—was the spear-arm play:Like a wind-whipt branchy wood, all spear-arms a-swing that day!But one man kept no rank, and his sole arm plied no spear,As a flashing came and went, and a form i' the van, the rear,Brightened the battle up, for he blazed now there, now here.Nor helmed nor shielded, he! but, a goat-skin all his wear,Like a tiller of the soil, with a clown's limbs broad and bare,Went he ploughing on and on: he pushed with a ploughman's share.Did the weak mid-line give way, as tunnies on whom the sharkPrecipitates his bulk? Did the right-wing halt when, starkOn his heap of slain lay stretched Kallimachos Polemarch?Did the steady phalanx falter? To the rescue, at the need,The clown was ploughing Persia, clearing Greek earth of weed,As he routed through the Sakian and rooted up the Mede.But the deed done, battle won,—nowhere to be descriedOn the meadow, by the stream, at the marsh, —look far and wideFrom the foot of the mountain, no, to the last blood-plashed sea-side,—Not anywhere on view blazed the large limbs thonged and brown,Shearing and clearing still with the share before which—downTo the dust went Persia's pomp, as he ploughed for Greece, that clown!How spake the Oracle? "Care for no name at all!Say but just this: 'We praise one helpful whom we callThe Holder of the Ploughshare.' The great deed ne'er grows small."Not the great name! Sing—woe for the great name MiltiadésAnd its end at Paros isle! Woe for Themistokles—Satrap in Sardis court! Name not the clown like these!

Here is a story, shall stir you! Stand up, Greeks dead and gone,Who breasted, beat Barbarians, stemmed Persia rolling on,Did the deed and saved the world, for the day was Marathon!

Here is a story, shall stir you! Stand up, Greeks dead and gone,

Who breasted, beat Barbarians, stemmed Persia rolling on,

Did the deed and saved the world, for the day was Marathon!

No man but did his manliest, kept rank and fought awayIn his tribe and file: up, back, out, down—was the spear-arm play:Like a wind-whipt branchy wood, all spear-arms a-swing that day!

No man but did his manliest, kept rank and fought away

In his tribe and file: up, back, out, down—was the spear-arm play:

Like a wind-whipt branchy wood, all spear-arms a-swing that day!

But one man kept no rank, and his sole arm plied no spear,As a flashing came and went, and a form i' the van, the rear,Brightened the battle up, for he blazed now there, now here.

But one man kept no rank, and his sole arm plied no spear,

As a flashing came and went, and a form i' the van, the rear,

Brightened the battle up, for he blazed now there, now here.

Nor helmed nor shielded, he! but, a goat-skin all his wear,Like a tiller of the soil, with a clown's limbs broad and bare,Went he ploughing on and on: he pushed with a ploughman's share.

Nor helmed nor shielded, he! but, a goat-skin all his wear,

Like a tiller of the soil, with a clown's limbs broad and bare,

Went he ploughing on and on: he pushed with a ploughman's share.

Did the weak mid-line give way, as tunnies on whom the sharkPrecipitates his bulk? Did the right-wing halt when, starkOn his heap of slain lay stretched Kallimachos Polemarch?

Did the weak mid-line give way, as tunnies on whom the shark

Precipitates his bulk? Did the right-wing halt when, stark

On his heap of slain lay stretched Kallimachos Polemarch?

Did the steady phalanx falter? To the rescue, at the need,The clown was ploughing Persia, clearing Greek earth of weed,As he routed through the Sakian and rooted up the Mede.

Did the steady phalanx falter? To the rescue, at the need,

The clown was ploughing Persia, clearing Greek earth of weed,

As he routed through the Sakian and rooted up the Mede.

But the deed done, battle won,—nowhere to be descriedOn the meadow, by the stream, at the marsh, —look far and wideFrom the foot of the mountain, no, to the last blood-plashed sea-side,—

But the deed done, battle won,—nowhere to be descried

On the meadow, by the stream, at the marsh, —look far and wide

From the foot of the mountain, no, to the last blood-plashed sea-side,—

Not anywhere on view blazed the large limbs thonged and brown,Shearing and clearing still with the share before which—downTo the dust went Persia's pomp, as he ploughed for Greece, that clown!

Not anywhere on view blazed the large limbs thonged and brown,

Shearing and clearing still with the share before which—down

To the dust went Persia's pomp, as he ploughed for Greece, that clown!

How spake the Oracle? "Care for no name at all!Say but just this: 'We praise one helpful whom we callThe Holder of the Ploughshare.' The great deed ne'er grows small."

How spake the Oracle? "Care for no name at all!

Say but just this: 'We praise one helpful whom we call

The Holder of the Ploughshare.' The great deed ne'er grows small."

Not the great name! Sing—woe for the great name MiltiadésAnd its end at Paros isle! Woe for Themistokles—Satrap in Sardis court! Name not the clown like these!

Not the great name! Sing—woe for the great name Miltiadés

And its end at Paros isle! Woe for Themistokles

—Satrap in Sardis court! Name not the clown like these!

Browning had this story from Mrs. Jameson as early as 1846, she in turn having just heard Macaulay tell it. Browning's own narrative preceded Clive's death by a week only.

I and Clive were friends—and why not? Friends! I think you laugh, my lad.Clive it was gave England India, while your father gives—egad,England nothing but the graceless boy who lures him on to speak—"Well, Sir, you and Clive were comrades—" with a tongue thrust in your cheek!Very true: in my eyes, your eyes, all the world's eyes, Clive was man,I was, am, and ever shall be—mouse, nay, mouse of all its clanSorriest sample, if you take the kitchen's estimate for fame;While the man Clive—he fought Plassy, spoiled the clever foreign game,Conquered and annexed and Englished!Never mind! As o'er my punch(You away) I sit of evenings,—silence, save for biscuit crunch,Black, unbroken,—thought grows busy, thrids each pathway of old years,Notes this forthright, that meander, till the long-past life appearsLike an outspread map of country plodded through, each mile and rood,Once, and well remembered still,—I 'm startled in my solitudeEver and anon by—what 's the sudden mocking light that breaksOn me as I slap the table till no rummer-glass but shakesWhile I ask—aloud, I do believe, God help me!—"Was it thus?Can it be that so I faltered, stopped when just one step for us—"(Us,—you were not born, I grant, but surely some day born would be)"—One bold step had gained a province" (figurative talk, you see)"Got no end of wealth and honor,—yet I stood stock-still no less?"—"For I was not Clive," you comment: but it needs no Clive to guessWealth were handy, honor ticklish, did no writing on the wallWarn me "Trespasser, 'ware man-traps!" Him who braves that notice—callHero! none of such heroics suit myself who read plain words,Doff my hat, and leap no barrier. Scripture says, the land 's the Lord's:Louts then—what avail the thousand, noisy in a smock-frocked ring,All-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be Clive their king?Higher warrant must you show me ere I set one foot beforeT' other in that dark direction, though I stand forevermorePoor as Job and meek as Moses. Evermore? No! By and byJob grows rich and Moses valiant, Clive turns out less wise than I.Don't object "Why call him friend, then?" Power is power, my boy, and stillMarks a man,—God's gift magnific, exercised for good or ill.You 've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin:Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet in!True, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass;Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage—ah, the brute he was!Why, that Clive,—that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving clerk, in fine,—He sustained a siege in Arcot ... But the world knows! Pass the wine.Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh, you mentioned "fear"!Just so: and, said I, that minds me of a story you shall hear.We were friends then, Clive and I: so, when the clouds, about the orbLate supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to absorbRay by ray its noontide brilliance,—friendship might, with steadier eyeDrawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze—all majesty.Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose a castle 's new:None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the impervious pileAs his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile.Reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? From withoutScrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates aboutTowers—the heap he kicks now! turrets—just the measure of his cane!Will that do? Observe moreover—(same similitude again)—Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade:'T is when foes are foiled and fighting 's finished that vile rains invade,Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no holesFit to build in like the topmost sockets made for banner-poles.So Clive crumbled slow in London, crashed at last.A week before,Dining with him,—after trying churchyard chat of days of yore,—Both of us stopped, tired as tombstones, headpiece, foot-piece, when they leanEach to other, drowsed in fog-smoke, o'er a coffined Past between.As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extinguishmentBy the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers wentWhere a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor,—"One more throwTry for Clive!" thought I: "Let 's venture some good rattling question!" So—"Come Clive, tell us"—out I blurted—"what to tell in turn, years hence,When my boy—suppose I have one—asks me on what evidenceI maintain my friend of Plassy proved a warrior every whitWorth your Alexanders, Cæsars, Marlboroughs and—what said Pitt?—Frederick the Fierce himself! Clive told me once"—I want to say—"Which feat out of all those famous doings bore the bell away—In his own calm estimation, mark you, not the mob's rough guess—Which stood foremost as evincing what Clive called courageousness!Come! what moment of the minute, what speck-centre in the wideCircle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified?(Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff, swallow bold this wholesome Port!)If a friend has leave to question,—when were you most brave, in short?"Up he arched his brows o' the instant—formidably Clive again."When was I most brave? I 'd answer, were the instance half as plainAs another instance that 's a brain-lodged crystal —curse it!—hereFreezing when my memory touches—ugh!—the time I felt most fear.Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear—anyhow,Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver now.""Fear!" smiled I. "Well, that 's the rarer: that 's a specimen to seek,Ticket up in one's museum,Mind-Freaks, Lord Clive's Fear, Unique!"Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he pored as thoughTracing, in the stains and streaks there, thoughts encrusted long ago.When he spoke 't was like a lawyer reading word by word some will,Some blind jungle of a statement,—beating on and on untilOut there leaps fierce life to fight with."This fell in my factor-days.Desk-drudge, slaving at Saint David's, one must game, or drink, or craze.I chose gaming: and,—because your high-flown gamesters hardly takeUmbrage at a factor's elbow if the factor pays his stake,—I was winked at in a circle where the company was choice,Captain This and Major That, men high of color, loud of voice,Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenileWho not merely risked but lost his hard-earned guineas with a smile."Down I sat to cards, one evening,—had for my antagonistSomebody whose name 's a secret—you 'll know why—so, if you list,Call him Cock o' the Walk, my scarlet son of Mars from head to heel!Play commenced: and, whether Cocky fancied that a clerk must feelQuite sufficient honor came of bending over one green baize,I the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman dared to raiseShadow of objection should the honor stay but playing endMore or less abruptly,—whether disinclined he grew to spendPractice strictly scientific on a booby born to stareAt—not ask of—lace-and-ruffles if the hand they hide plays fair,—Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me 'Cut!'"I rose.'Such the new manœuvre, Captain? I'm a novice: knowledge grows.What, you force a card, you cheat, Sir?'"Never did a thunder-clapCause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his lap,As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join the pack)Fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, turned black.When he found his voice, he stammered 'That expression once again!'"'Well, you forced a card and cheated!'"'Possibly a factor's brain,Busied with his all-important balance of accounts, may deemWeighing words superfluous trouble:cheatto clerkly ears may seemJust the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you see!When a gentleman is joked with,—if he 's good at repartee,He rejoins, as do I—Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full!Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skullLets in light and teaches manner to what brain it finds! Choose quick—Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon candle-wick!'"'Well, you cheated!'"Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around.To his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth were ground.'End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were our disgrace!No delay, begin and finish! Stand back, leave the pair a space!Let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen,Fly the sword! This clerk 's no swordsman? Suit him with a pistol, then!Even odds! A dozen paces 'twixt the most and least expertMake a dwarf a giant's equal: nay, the dwarf, if he 's alert,Likelier hits the broader target!'"Up we stood accordingly.As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's thirst to tryThen and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp outEvery spark of his existence, that,—crept close to, curled aboutBy that toying tempting teasing fool-forefinger's middle joint,—Don't you guess?—the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! and at the pointOf such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his headWent my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I was dead."Up he marched in flaming triumph—'t was his right, mind!—up, withinJust an arm's length. 'Now, my clerkling,' chuckled Cocky with a grinAs the levelled piece quite touched me, 'Now, Sir Counting-House, repeatThat expression which I told you proved bad manners! Did I cheat?'"'Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this moment, know as well.As for me, my homely breeding bids you—fire and go to Hell!'"Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, flurried wrist,Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, 'Laugh at Hell who list,I can't! God 's no fable either. Did this boy's eye wink once? No!There 's no standing him and Hell and God all three against me,—so,I did cheat!'"And down he threw the pistol, out rushed—by the doorPossibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor,He effected disappearance—I 'll engage no glance was sentThat way by a single starer, such a blank astonishmentSwallowed up their senses: as for speaking—mute they stood as mice."Mute not long, though! Such reaction, such a hubbub in a trice!'Rogue and rascal! Who 'd have thought it? What 's to be expected next,When His Majesty's Commission serves a sharper as pretextFor ... But where 's the need of wasting time now? Naught requires delay:Punishment the Service cries for: let disgrace be wiped awayPublicly, in good broad daylight! Resignation? No, indeed!Drum and fife must play the Rogue's-March, rank and file be free to speedTardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in the rear—Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian,—never fear,Mister Clive, for—though a clerk—you bore yourself—suppose we say—Just as would beseem a soldier?"'Gentlemen, attention—pray!First, one word!'"I passed each speaker severally in review.When I had precise their number, names and styles, and fully knewOver whom my supervision thenceforth must extend,—why, then—"'Some five minutes since, my life lay—as you all saw, gentlemen—At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice was raisedIn arrest of judgment, not one tongue—before my powder blazed—Ventured "Can it be the youngster blundered, really seemed to markSome irregular proceeding? We conjecture in the dark,Guess at random,—still, for sake of fair play—what if for a freak,In a fit of absence,—such things have been!—if our friend proved weak—What 's the phrase?—corrected fortune! Look into the case, at least!"Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the priest?Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each,To the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech—To his face, behind his back,—that speaker has to do with me:Me who promise, if positions change and mine the chance should be,Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage!'"Twenty-fiveYears ago this matter happened: and 't is certain," added Clive,"Never, to my knowledge, did Sir Cocky have a single breathBreathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since his death,For if he be dead or living I can tell no more than you.All I know is—Cocky had one chance more; how he used it,—grewOut of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back againBrought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train,—That 's for you to judge. Reprieval I procured, at any rate.Ugh—the memory of that minute's fear makes gooseflesh rise! Why prateLonger? You 've my story, there 's your instance: fear I did, you see!""Well"—I hardly kept from laughing—"if I see it, thanks must beWholly to your Lordship's candor. Not that —in a common case—When a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one's face,I should under-rate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve!'T is no joke, at one-and-twenty, for a youth to stand nor swerve.Fear I naturally look for—unless, of all men alive,I am forced to make exception when I come to Robert Clive.Since at Arcot, Plassy, elsewhere, he and death—the whole world knows—Came to somewhat closer quarters."Quarters? Had we come to blows,Clive and I, you had not wondered—up he sprang so, out he rappedSuch a round of oaths—no matter! I 'll endeavor to adaptTo our modern usage words he—well, 't was friendly license—flungAt me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue."You—a soldier? You—at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nickInstantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick,—At his mercy, at his malice,—has you, through some stupid inchUndefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open,—not to flinch—That needs courage, you 'll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose the man.Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a spanDistant from my temple,—curse him!—quietly had bade me, 'There!Keep your life, calumniator!—worthless life I freely spare:Mine you freely would have taken—murdered me and my good fameBoth at once—and all the better! Go, and thank your own bad aimWhich permits me to forgive you!' What if, with such words as these,He had cast away his weapon? How should I have borne me, please?Nay, I 'll spare you pains and tell you. This, and only this, remained—Pick his weapon up and use it on myself. If so had gainedSleep the earlier, leaving England probably to pay on stillRent and taxes for half India, tenant at the Frenchman's will.""Such the turn," said I, "the matter takes with you? Then I abate—No, by not one jot nor tittle,—of your act my estimate.Fear—I wish I could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough—Call it desperation, madness—never mind! for here 's in roughWhy, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace.True, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against God's face—None of that for me, Lord Plassy, since I go to church at times,Say the creed my mother taught me! Many years in foreign climesRub some marks away—not all, though! We poor sinners reach life's brink,Overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but thinkThere 's advantage in what 's left us—ground to stand on, time to call'Lord, have mercy!' ere we topple over—do not leap, that 's all!"Oh, he made no answer, re-absorbed into his cloud. I caughtSomething like "Yes—courage: only fools will call it fear."If aughtComfort you, my great unhappy hero Clive, in that I heard,Next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the word"Fearfully courageous!"—this, be sure, and nothing else I groaned.I 'm no Clive, nor parson either: Clive's worst deed—we 'll hope condoned.

I and Clive were friends—and why not? Friends! I think you laugh, my lad.

Clive it was gave England India, while your father gives—egad,

England nothing but the graceless boy who lures him on to speak—

"Well, Sir, you and Clive were comrades—" with a tongue thrust in your cheek!

Very true: in my eyes, your eyes, all the world's eyes, Clive was man,

I was, am, and ever shall be—mouse, nay, mouse of all its clan

Sorriest sample, if you take the kitchen's estimate for fame;

While the man Clive—he fought Plassy, spoiled the clever foreign game,

Conquered and annexed and Englished!

Never mind! As o'er my punch(You away) I sit of evenings,—silence, save for biscuit crunch,Black, unbroken,—thought grows busy, thrids each pathway of old years,Notes this forthright, that meander, till the long-past life appearsLike an outspread map of country plodded through, each mile and rood,Once, and well remembered still,—I 'm startled in my solitudeEver and anon by—what 's the sudden mocking light that breaksOn me as I slap the table till no rummer-glass but shakesWhile I ask—aloud, I do believe, God help me!—"Was it thus?Can it be that so I faltered, stopped when just one step for us—"(Us,—you were not born, I grant, but surely some day born would be)"—One bold step had gained a province" (figurative talk, you see)"Got no end of wealth and honor,—yet I stood stock-still no less?"—"For I was not Clive," you comment: but it needs no Clive to guessWealth were handy, honor ticklish, did no writing on the wallWarn me "Trespasser, 'ware man-traps!" Him who braves that notice—callHero! none of such heroics suit myself who read plain words,Doff my hat, and leap no barrier. Scripture says, the land 's the Lord's:Louts then—what avail the thousand, noisy in a smock-frocked ring,All-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be Clive their king?Higher warrant must you show me ere I set one foot beforeT' other in that dark direction, though I stand forevermorePoor as Job and meek as Moses. Evermore? No! By and byJob grows rich and Moses valiant, Clive turns out less wise than I.Don't object "Why call him friend, then?" Power is power, my boy, and stillMarks a man,—God's gift magnific, exercised for good or ill.You 've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin:Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet in!True, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass;Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage—ah, the brute he was!Why, that Clive,—that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving clerk, in fine,—He sustained a siege in Arcot ... But the world knows! Pass the wine.

Never mind! As o'er my punch

(You away) I sit of evenings,—silence, save for biscuit crunch,

Black, unbroken,—thought grows busy, thrids each pathway of old years,

Notes this forthright, that meander, till the long-past life appears

Like an outspread map of country plodded through, each mile and rood,

Once, and well remembered still,—I 'm startled in my solitude

Ever and anon by—what 's the sudden mocking light that breaks

On me as I slap the table till no rummer-glass but shakes

While I ask—aloud, I do believe, God help me!—"Was it thus?

Can it be that so I faltered, stopped when just one step for us—"

(Us,—you were not born, I grant, but surely some day born would be)

"—One bold step had gained a province" (figurative talk, you see)

"Got no end of wealth and honor,—yet I stood stock-still no less?"

—"For I was not Clive," you comment: but it needs no Clive to guess

Wealth were handy, honor ticklish, did no writing on the wall

Warn me "Trespasser, 'ware man-traps!" Him who braves that notice—call

Hero! none of such heroics suit myself who read plain words,

Doff my hat, and leap no barrier. Scripture says, the land 's the Lord's:

Louts then—what avail the thousand, noisy in a smock-frocked ring,

All-agog to have me trespass, clear the fence, be Clive their king?

Higher warrant must you show me ere I set one foot before

T' other in that dark direction, though I stand forevermore

Poor as Job and meek as Moses. Evermore? No! By and by

Job grows rich and Moses valiant, Clive turns out less wise than I.

Don't object "Why call him friend, then?" Power is power, my boy, and still

Marks a man,—God's gift magnific, exercised for good or ill.

You 've your boot now on my hearth-rug, tread what was a tiger's skin:

Rarely such a royal monster as I lodged the bullet in!

True, he murdered half a village, so his own death came to pass;

Still, for size and beauty, cunning, courage—ah, the brute he was!

Why, that Clive,—that youth, that greenhorn, that quill-driving clerk, in fine,—

He sustained a siege in Arcot ... But the world knows! Pass the wine.

Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh, you mentioned "fear"!Just so: and, said I, that minds me of a story you shall hear.

Where did I break off at? How bring Clive in? Oh, you mentioned "fear"!

Just so: and, said I, that minds me of a story you shall hear.

We were friends then, Clive and I: so, when the clouds, about the orbLate supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to absorbRay by ray its noontide brilliance,—friendship might, with steadier eyeDrawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze—all majesty.Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose a castle 's new:None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the impervious pileAs his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile.Reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? From withoutScrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates aboutTowers—the heap he kicks now! turrets—just the measure of his cane!Will that do? Observe moreover—(same similitude again)—Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade:'T is when foes are foiled and fighting 's finished that vile rains invade,Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no holesFit to build in like the topmost sockets made for banner-poles.So Clive crumbled slow in London, crashed at last.

We were friends then, Clive and I: so, when the clouds, about the orb

Late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to absorb

Ray by ray its noontide brilliance,—friendship might, with steadier eye

Drawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze—all majesty.

Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose a castle 's new:

None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold sure for shoe

'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the impervious pile

As his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile.

Reels that castle thunder-smitten, storm-dismantled? From without

Scrambling up by crack and crevice, every cockney prates about

Towers—the heap he kicks now! turrets—just the measure of his cane!

Will that do? Observe moreover—(same similitude again)—

Such a castle seldom crumbles by sheer stress of cannonade:

'T is when foes are foiled and fighting 's finished that vile rains invade,

Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds congregating find no holes

Fit to build in like the topmost sockets made for banner-poles.

So Clive crumbled slow in London, crashed at last.

A week before,Dining with him,—after trying churchyard chat of days of yore,—Both of us stopped, tired as tombstones, headpiece, foot-piece, when they leanEach to other, drowsed in fog-smoke, o'er a coffined Past between.As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extinguishmentBy the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers wentWhere a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor,—"One more throwTry for Clive!" thought I: "Let 's venture some good rattling question!" So—"Come Clive, tell us"—out I blurted—"what to tell in turn, years hence,When my boy—suppose I have one—asks me on what evidenceI maintain my friend of Plassy proved a warrior every whitWorth your Alexanders, Cæsars, Marlboroughs and—what said Pitt?—Frederick the Fierce himself! Clive told me once"—I want to say—"Which feat out of all those famous doings bore the bell away—In his own calm estimation, mark you, not the mob's rough guess—Which stood foremost as evincing what Clive called courageousness!Come! what moment of the minute, what speck-centre in the wideCircle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified?(Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff, swallow bold this wholesome Port!)If a friend has leave to question,—when were you most brave, in short?"

A week before,

Dining with him,—after trying churchyard chat of days of yore,—

Both of us stopped, tired as tombstones, headpiece, foot-piece, when they lean

Each to other, drowsed in fog-smoke, o'er a coffined Past between.

As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extinguishment

By the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers went

Where a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor,—"One more throw

Try for Clive!" thought I: "Let 's venture some good rattling question!" So—

"Come Clive, tell us"—out I blurted—"what to tell in turn, years hence,

When my boy—suppose I have one—asks me on what evidence

I maintain my friend of Plassy proved a warrior every whit

Worth your Alexanders, Cæsars, Marlboroughs and—what said Pitt?—

Frederick the Fierce himself! Clive told me once"—I want to say—

"Which feat out of all those famous doings bore the bell away

—In his own calm estimation, mark you, not the mob's rough guess—

Which stood foremost as evincing what Clive called courageousness!

Come! what moment of the minute, what speck-centre in the wide

Circle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified?

(Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff, swallow bold this wholesome Port!)

If a friend has leave to question,—when were you most brave, in short?"

Up he arched his brows o' the instant—formidably Clive again."When was I most brave? I 'd answer, were the instance half as plainAs another instance that 's a brain-lodged crystal —curse it!—hereFreezing when my memory touches—ugh!—the time I felt most fear.Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear—anyhow,Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver now."

Up he arched his brows o' the instant—formidably Clive again.

"When was I most brave? I 'd answer, were the instance half as plain

As another instance that 's a brain-lodged crystal —curse it!—here

Freezing when my memory touches—ugh!—the time I felt most fear.

Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear—anyhow,

Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver now."

"Fear!" smiled I. "Well, that 's the rarer: that 's a specimen to seek,Ticket up in one's museum,Mind-Freaks, Lord Clive's Fear, Unique!"

"Fear!" smiled I. "Well, that 's the rarer: that 's a specimen to seek,

Ticket up in one's museum,Mind-Freaks, Lord Clive's Fear, Unique!"

Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he pored as thoughTracing, in the stains and streaks there, thoughts encrusted long ago.When he spoke 't was like a lawyer reading word by word some will,Some blind jungle of a statement,—beating on and on untilOut there leaps fierce life to fight with.

Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he pored as though

Tracing, in the stains and streaks there, thoughts encrusted long ago.

When he spoke 't was like a lawyer reading word by word some will,

Some blind jungle of a statement,—beating on and on until

Out there leaps fierce life to fight with.

"This fell in my factor-days.Desk-drudge, slaving at Saint David's, one must game, or drink, or craze.I chose gaming: and,—because your high-flown gamesters hardly takeUmbrage at a factor's elbow if the factor pays his stake,—I was winked at in a circle where the company was choice,Captain This and Major That, men high of color, loud of voice,Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenileWho not merely risked but lost his hard-earned guineas with a smile.

"This fell in my factor-days.

Desk-drudge, slaving at Saint David's, one must game, or drink, or craze.

I chose gaming: and,—because your high-flown gamesters hardly take

Umbrage at a factor's elbow if the factor pays his stake,—

I was winked at in a circle where the company was choice,

Captain This and Major That, men high of color, loud of voice,

Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenile

Who not merely risked but lost his hard-earned guineas with a smile.

"Down I sat to cards, one evening,—had for my antagonistSomebody whose name 's a secret—you 'll know why—so, if you list,Call him Cock o' the Walk, my scarlet son of Mars from head to heel!Play commenced: and, whether Cocky fancied that a clerk must feelQuite sufficient honor came of bending over one green baize,I the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman dared to raiseShadow of objection should the honor stay but playing endMore or less abruptly,—whether disinclined he grew to spendPractice strictly scientific on a booby born to stareAt—not ask of—lace-and-ruffles if the hand they hide plays fair,—Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me 'Cut!'

"Down I sat to cards, one evening,—had for my antagonist

Somebody whose name 's a secret—you 'll know why—so, if you list,

Call him Cock o' the Walk, my scarlet son of Mars from head to heel!

Play commenced: and, whether Cocky fancied that a clerk must feel

Quite sufficient honor came of bending over one green baize,

I the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman dared to raise

Shadow of objection should the honor stay but playing end

More or less abruptly,—whether disinclined he grew to spend

Practice strictly scientific on a booby born to stare

At—not ask of—lace-and-ruffles if the hand they hide plays fair,—

Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me 'Cut!'

"I rose.'Such the new manœuvre, Captain? I'm a novice: knowledge grows.What, you force a card, you cheat, Sir?'

"I rose.

'Such the new manœuvre, Captain? I'm a novice: knowledge grows.

What, you force a card, you cheat, Sir?'

"Never did a thunder-clapCause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his lap,As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join the pack)Fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, turned black.

"Never did a thunder-clap

Cause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his lap,

As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join the pack)

Fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, turned black.

When he found his voice, he stammered 'That expression once again!'

"'Well, you forced a card and cheated!'

"'Possibly a factor's brain,Busied with his all-important balance of accounts, may deemWeighing words superfluous trouble:cheatto clerkly ears may seemJust the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you see!When a gentleman is joked with,—if he 's good at repartee,He rejoins, as do I—Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full!Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skullLets in light and teaches manner to what brain it finds! Choose quick—Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon candle-wick!'

"'Possibly a factor's brain,

Busied with his all-important balance of accounts, may deem

Weighing words superfluous trouble:cheatto clerkly ears may seem

Just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not friends, you see!

When a gentleman is joked with,—if he 's good at repartee,

He rejoins, as do I—Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw in full!

Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through your skull

Lets in light and teaches manner to what brain it finds! Choose quick—

Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim yon candle-wick!'

"'Well, you cheated!'"Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around.To his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth were ground.'End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were our disgrace!No delay, begin and finish! Stand back, leave the pair a space!Let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen,Fly the sword! This clerk 's no swordsman? Suit him with a pistol, then!Even odds! A dozen paces 'twixt the most and least expertMake a dwarf a giant's equal: nay, the dwarf, if he 's alert,Likelier hits the broader target!'

"'Well, you cheated!'

"Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around.

To his feet sprang each in fury, fists were clenched and teeth were ground.

'End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were our disgrace!

No delay, begin and finish! Stand back, leave the pair a space!

Let civilians be instructed: henceforth simply ply the pen,

Fly the sword! This clerk 's no swordsman? Suit him with a pistol, then!

Even odds! A dozen paces 'twixt the most and least expert

Make a dwarf a giant's equal: nay, the dwarf, if he 's alert,

Likelier hits the broader target!'

"Up we stood accordingly.As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's thirst to tryThen and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp outEvery spark of his existence, that,—crept close to, curled aboutBy that toying tempting teasing fool-forefinger's middle joint,—Don't you guess?—the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! and at the pointOf such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his headWent my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I was dead.

"Up we stood accordingly.

As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's thirst to try

Then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on and stamp out

Every spark of his existence, that,—crept close to, curled about

By that toying tempting teasing fool-forefinger's middle joint,—

Don't you guess?—the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! and at the point

Of such prime success moreover: scarce an inch above his head

Went my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I was dead.

"Up he marched in flaming triumph—'t was his right, mind!—up, withinJust an arm's length. 'Now, my clerkling,' chuckled Cocky with a grinAs the levelled piece quite touched me, 'Now, Sir Counting-House, repeatThat expression which I told you proved bad manners! Did I cheat?'

"Up he marched in flaming triumph—'t was his right, mind!—up, within

Just an arm's length. 'Now, my clerkling,' chuckled Cocky with a grin

As the levelled piece quite touched me, 'Now, Sir Counting-House, repeat

That expression which I told you proved bad manners! Did I cheat?'

"'Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this moment, know as well.As for me, my homely breeding bids you—fire and go to Hell!'

"'Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this moment, know as well.

As for me, my homely breeding bids you—fire and go to Hell!'

"Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, flurried wrist,Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, 'Laugh at Hell who list,I can't! God 's no fable either. Did this boy's eye wink once? No!There 's no standing him and Hell and God all three against me,—so,I did cheat!'

"Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, flurried wrist,

Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, 'Laugh at Hell who list,

I can't! God 's no fable either. Did this boy's eye wink once? No!

There 's no standing him and Hell and God all three against me,—so,

I did cheat!'

"And down he threw the pistol, out rushed—by the doorPossibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor,He effected disappearance—I 'll engage no glance was sentThat way by a single starer, such a blank astonishmentSwallowed up their senses: as for speaking—mute they stood as mice.

"And down he threw the pistol, out rushed—by the door

Possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof or floor,

He effected disappearance—I 'll engage no glance was sent

That way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment

Swallowed up their senses: as for speaking—mute they stood as mice.

"Mute not long, though! Such reaction, such a hubbub in a trice!'Rogue and rascal! Who 'd have thought it? What 's to be expected next,When His Majesty's Commission serves a sharper as pretextFor ... But where 's the need of wasting time now? Naught requires delay:Punishment the Service cries for: let disgrace be wiped awayPublicly, in good broad daylight! Resignation? No, indeed!Drum and fife must play the Rogue's-March, rank and file be free to speedTardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in the rear—Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian,—never fear,Mister Clive, for—though a clerk—you bore yourself—suppose we say—Just as would beseem a soldier?

"Mute not long, though! Such reaction, such a hubbub in a trice!

'Rogue and rascal! Who 'd have thought it? What 's to be expected next,

When His Majesty's Commission serves a sharper as pretext

For ... But where 's the need of wasting time now? Naught requires delay:

Punishment the Service cries for: let disgrace be wiped away

Publicly, in good broad daylight! Resignation? No, indeed!

Drum and fife must play the Rogue's-March, rank and file be free to speed

Tardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in the rear

—Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian,—never fear,

Mister Clive, for—though a clerk—you bore yourself—suppose we say—

Just as would beseem a soldier?

"'Gentlemen, attention—pray!First, one word!'

"'Gentlemen, attention—pray!

First, one word!'

"I passed each speaker severally in review.When I had precise their number, names and styles, and fully knewOver whom my supervision thenceforth must extend,—why, then—

"I passed each speaker severally in review.

When I had precise their number, names and styles, and fully knew

Over whom my supervision thenceforth must extend,—why, then—

"'Some five minutes since, my life lay—as you all saw, gentlemen—At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice was raisedIn arrest of judgment, not one tongue—before my powder blazed—Ventured "Can it be the youngster blundered, really seemed to markSome irregular proceeding? We conjecture in the dark,Guess at random,—still, for sake of fair play—what if for a freak,In a fit of absence,—such things have been!—if our friend proved weak—What 's the phrase?—corrected fortune! Look into the case, at least!"Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the priest?Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each,To the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech—To his face, behind his back,—that speaker has to do with me:Me who promise, if positions change and mine the chance should be,Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage!'

"'Some five minutes since, my life lay—as you all saw, gentlemen—

At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice was raised

In arrest of judgment, not one tongue—before my powder blazed—

Ventured "Can it be the youngster blundered, really seemed to mark

Some irregular proceeding? We conjecture in the dark,

Guess at random,—still, for sake of fair play—what if for a freak,

In a fit of absence,—such things have been!—if our friend proved weak

—What 's the phrase?—corrected fortune! Look into the case, at least!"

Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the priest?

Yet he spared me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each,

To the disadvantage of the man who spared me, utters speech

—To his face, behind his back,—that speaker has to do with me:

Me who promise, if positions change and mine the chance should be,

Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage!'

"Twenty-fiveYears ago this matter happened: and 't is certain," added Clive,"Never, to my knowledge, did Sir Cocky have a single breathBreathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since his death,For if he be dead or living I can tell no more than you.All I know is—Cocky had one chance more; how he used it,—grewOut of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back againBrought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train,—That 's for you to judge. Reprieval I procured, at any rate.Ugh—the memory of that minute's fear makes gooseflesh rise! Why prateLonger? You 've my story, there 's your instance: fear I did, you see!"

"Twenty-five

Years ago this matter happened: and 't is certain," added Clive,

"Never, to my knowledge, did Sir Cocky have a single breath

Breathed against him: lips were closed throughout his life, or since his death,

For if he be dead or living I can tell no more than you.

All I know is—Cocky had one chance more; how he used it,—grew

Out of such unlucky habits, or relapsed, and back again

Brought the late-ejected devil with a score more in his train,—

That 's for you to judge. Reprieval I procured, at any rate.

Ugh—the memory of that minute's fear makes gooseflesh rise! Why prate

Longer? You 've my story, there 's your instance: fear I did, you see!"

"Well"—I hardly kept from laughing—"if I see it, thanks must beWholly to your Lordship's candor. Not that —in a common case—When a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one's face,I should under-rate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve!'T is no joke, at one-and-twenty, for a youth to stand nor swerve.Fear I naturally look for—unless, of all men alive,I am forced to make exception when I come to Robert Clive.Since at Arcot, Plassy, elsewhere, he and death—the whole world knows—Came to somewhat closer quarters."

"Well"—I hardly kept from laughing—"if I see it, thanks must be

Wholly to your Lordship's candor. Not that —in a common case—

When a bully caught at cheating thrusts a pistol in one's face,

I should under-rate, believe me, such a trial to the nerve!

'T is no joke, at one-and-twenty, for a youth to stand nor swerve.

Fear I naturally look for—unless, of all men alive,

I am forced to make exception when I come to Robert Clive.

Since at Arcot, Plassy, elsewhere, he and death—the whole world knows—

Came to somewhat closer quarters."

Quarters? Had we come to blows,Clive and I, you had not wondered—up he sprang so, out he rappedSuch a round of oaths—no matter! I 'll endeavor to adaptTo our modern usage words he—well, 't was friendly license—flungAt me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue.

Quarters? Had we come to blows,

Clive and I, you had not wondered—up he sprang so, out he rapped

Such a round of oaths—no matter! I 'll endeavor to adapt

To our modern usage words he—well, 't was friendly license—flung

At me like so many fire-balls, fast as he could wag his tongue.

"You—a soldier? You—at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nickInstantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick,—At his mercy, at his malice,—has you, through some stupid inchUndefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open,—not to flinch—That needs courage, you 'll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose the man.Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a spanDistant from my temple,—curse him!—quietly had bade me, 'There!Keep your life, calumniator!—worthless life I freely spare:Mine you freely would have taken—murdered me and my good fameBoth at once—and all the better! Go, and thank your own bad aimWhich permits me to forgive you!' What if, with such words as these,He had cast away his weapon? How should I have borne me, please?Nay, I 'll spare you pains and tell you. This, and only this, remained—Pick his weapon up and use it on myself. If so had gainedSleep the earlier, leaving England probably to pay on stillRent and taxes for half India, tenant at the Frenchman's will."

"You—a soldier? You—at Plassy? Yours the faculty to nick

Instantaneously occasion when your foe, if lightning-quick,

—At his mercy, at his malice,—has you, through some stupid inch

Undefended in your bulwark? Thus laid open,—not to flinch

—That needs courage, you 'll concede me. Then, look here! Suppose the man.

Checking his advance, his weapon still extended, not a span

Distant from my temple,—curse him!—quietly had bade me, 'There!

Keep your life, calumniator!—worthless life I freely spare:

Mine you freely would have taken—murdered me and my good fame

Both at once—and all the better! Go, and thank your own bad aim

Which permits me to forgive you!' What if, with such words as these,

He had cast away his weapon? How should I have borne me, please?

Nay, I 'll spare you pains and tell you. This, and only this, remained—

Pick his weapon up and use it on myself. If so had gained

Sleep the earlier, leaving England probably to pay on still

Rent and taxes for half India, tenant at the Frenchman's will."

"Such the turn," said I, "the matter takes with you? Then I abate—No, by not one jot nor tittle,—of your act my estimate.Fear—I wish I could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough—Call it desperation, madness—never mind! for here 's in roughWhy, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace.True, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against God's face—None of that for me, Lord Plassy, since I go to church at times,Say the creed my mother taught me! Many years in foreign climesRub some marks away—not all, though! We poor sinners reach life's brink,Overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but thinkThere 's advantage in what 's left us—ground to stand on, time to call'Lord, have mercy!' ere we topple over—do not leap, that 's all!"

"Such the turn," said I, "the matter takes with you? Then I abate

—No, by not one jot nor tittle,—of your act my estimate.

Fear—I wish I could detect there: courage fronts me, plain enough—

Call it desperation, madness—never mind! for here 's in rough

Why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome disgrace.

True, disgrace were hard to bear: but such a rush against God's face

—None of that for me, Lord Plassy, since I go to church at times,

Say the creed my mother taught me! Many years in foreign climes

Rub some marks away—not all, though! We poor sinners reach life's brink,

Overlook what rolls beneath it, recklessly enough, but think

There 's advantage in what 's left us—ground to stand on, time to call

'Lord, have mercy!' ere we topple over—do not leap, that 's all!"

Oh, he made no answer, re-absorbed into his cloud. I caughtSomething like "Yes—courage: only fools will call it fear."

Oh, he made no answer, re-absorbed into his cloud. I caught

Something like "Yes—courage: only fools will call it fear."

If aughtComfort you, my great unhappy hero Clive, in that I heard,Next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the word"Fearfully courageous!"—this, be sure, and nothing else I groaned.I 'm no Clive, nor parson either: Clive's worst deed—we 'll hope condoned.

If aught

Comfort you, my great unhappy hero Clive, in that I heard,

Next week, how your own hand dealt you doom, and uttered just the word

"Fearfully courageous!"—this, be sure, and nothing else I groaned.

I 'm no Clive, nor parson either: Clive's worst deed—we 'll hope condoned.

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