Hot Hollands punch on top of stoutPuts madness in and wisdom out.From drunken man to drunken manThe drunken madness raged and ran.'I'm climber Joe who climbed the spire.''You're climber Joe the bloody liar.''Who says I lie?''I do.''You lie,I climbed the spire and had a fly.''I'm French Suzanne, the Circus Dancer,I'm going to dance a bloody Lancer.''If I'd my rights I'm Squire's heir.''By rights I'd be a millionaire.''By rights I'd be the lord of you,But Farmer Scriggins had his do,He done me, so I've had to hoove it,I've got it all wrote down to prove it.And one of these dark winter nightsHe'll learn I mean to have my rights;I'll bloody him a bloody fix,I'll bloody burn his bloody ricks.'From three long hours of gin and smokes,And two girls' breath and fifteen blokes',A warmish night, and windows shut,The room stank like a fox's gut.The heat and smell and drinking deepBegan to stun the gang to sleep.Some fell downstairs to sleep on the mat,Some snored it sodden where they sat.Dick Twot had lost a tooth and wept,But all the drunken others slept.Jane slept beside me in the chair,And I got up; I wanted air.I opened window wide and leanedOut of that pigstye of the fiendAnd felt a cool wind go like graceAbout the sleeping market-place.The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly,The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy;And in a second's pause there fellThe cold note of the chapel bell,And then a cock crew, flapping wings,And summat made me think of thingsHow long those ticking clocks had goneFrom church and chapel, on and on,Ticking the time out, ticking slowTo men and girls who'd come and go,And how they ticked in belfry darkWhen half the town was bishop's park,And how they'd rung a chime full tiltThe night after the church was built,And how that night was Lambert's Feast,The night I'd fought and been a beast.And how a change had come. And thenI thought, 'You tick to different men.'What with the fight and what with drinkingAnd being awake alone there thinking,My mind began to carp and tetter,'If this life's all, the beasts are better.'And then I thought, 'I wish I'd seenThe many towns this town has been;I wish I knew if they'd a-gotA kind of summat we've a-not,If them as built the church so fairWere half the chaps folk say they were;For they'd the skill to draw their plan,And skill's a joy to any man;And they'd the strength, not skill alone,To build it beautiful in stone;And strength and skill together thus...O, they were happier men than us.'But if they were, they had to dieThe same as every one and I.And no one lives again, but dies,And all the bright goes out of eyes,And all the skill goes out of hands,And all the wise brain understands,And all the beauty, all the powerIs cut down like a withered flower.In all the show from birth to restI give the poor dumb cattle best.'I wondered, then, why life should be,And what would be the end of meWhen youth and health and strength were goneAnd cold old age came creeping on?A keeper's gun? The Union ward?Or that new quod at Hereford?And looking round I felt disgustAt all the nights of drink and lust,And all the looks of all the swineWho'd said that they were friends of mine;And yet I knew, when morning came,The morning would be just the same,For I'd have drinks and Jane would meet meAnd drunken Silas Jones would greet me,And I'd risk quod and keeper's gunTill all the silly game was done.'For parson chaps are mad supposin'A chap can change the road he's chosen.'And then the Devil whispered 'Saul,Why should you want to live at all?Why fret and sweat and try to mend?It's all the same thing in the end.But when it's done,' he said, 'it's ended.Why stand it, since it can't be mended?'And in my heart I heard him plain,'Throw yourself down and end it, Kane.''Why not?' said I. 'Why not? But no.I won't. I've never had my go.I've not had all the world can give.Death by and by, but first I'll live.The world owes me my time of times,And that time's coming now, by crimes.'A madness took me then. I feltI'd like to hit the world a belt.I felt that I could fly through air,A screaming star with blazing hair,A rushing comet, crackling, numbingThe folk with fear of judgment coming,A 'Lijah in a fiery carComing to tell folk what they are.'That's what I'll do,' I shouted loud,'I'll tell this sanctimonious crowd,This town of window-peeping, prying,Maligning, peering, hinting, lying,Male and female human blotsWho would, but daren't be, whores and sots,That they're so steeped in petty viceThat they're less excellent than lice,That they're so soaked in petty virtueThat touching one of them will dirt you,Dirt you with the stain of meanCheating trade and going between,Pinching, starving, scraping, hoardingSpying through the chinks of boardingTo see if Sue the prentice leanDares to touch the margarine.Fawning, cringing, oiling boots,Raging in the crowd's pursuits,Flinging stones at all the Stephens,Standing firm with all the evens,Making hell for all the odd,All the lonely ones of God,Those poor lonely ones who findDogs more mild than human kind.For dogs,' I said, 'are nobles bornTo most of you, you cockled corn.I've known dogs to leave their dinner,Nosing a kind heart in a sinner.Poor old Crafty wagged his tailThe day I first came home from jail,When all my folk, so primly clad,Glowered black and thought me mad,And muttered how they'd been respected,While I was what they'd all expected.(I've thought of that old dog for years,And of how near I come to tears.)'But you, you minds of bread and cheese,Are less divine than that dog's fleas.You suck blood from kindly friends,And kill them when it serves your ends.Double traitors, double black,Stabbing only in the back,Stabbing with the knives you borrowFrom the friends you bring to sorrow.You stab all that's true and strong;Truth and strength you say are wrong;Meek and mild, and sweet and creeping,Repeating, canting, cadging, peeping,That's the art and that's the lifeTo win a man his neighbour's wife.All that's good and all that's true,You kill that, so I'll kill you.'At that I tore my clothes in shredsAnd hurled them on the window leads;I flung my boots through both the windersAnd knocked the glass to little flinders;The punch bowl and the tumblers followed,And then I seized the lamps and holloed.And down the stairs, and tore back bolts,As mad as twenty blooded colts;And out into the street I pass,As mad as two-year-olds at grass,A naked madman waving grandA blazing lamp in either hand.I yelled like twenty drunken sailors,'The devil's come among the tailors.'A blaze of flame behind me streamed,And then I clashed the lamps and screamed'I'm Satan, newly come from hell.'And then I spied the fire-bell.I've been a ringer, so I knowHow best to make a big bell go.So on to bell-rope swift I swoop,And stick my one foot in the loopAnd heave a down-swig till I groan,'Awake, you swine, you devil's own.'I made the fire-bell awake,I felt the bell-rope throb and shake;I felt the air mingle and clangAnd beat the walls a muffled bang,And stifle back and boom and bayLike muffled peals on Boxing Day,And then surge up and gather shape,And spread great pinions and escape;And each great bird of clanging shrieksO Fire, Fire! from iron beaks.My shoulders cracked to send aroundThose shrieking birds made out of soundWith news of fire in their bills.(They heard 'em plain beyond Wall Hills.)Up go the winders, out come heads,I heard the springs go creak in beds;But still I heave and sweat and tire,And still the clang goes 'Fire, Fire!''Where is it, then? Who is it, there?You ringer, stop, and tell us where.''Run round and let the Captain know.''It must be bad, he's ringing so.''It's in the town, I see the flame;Look there! Look there, how red it came.''Where is it, then 'O stop the bell.'I stopped and called: 'It's fire of hell;And this is Sodom and Gomorrah,And now I'll burn you up, begorra.'By this the firemen were mustering,The half-dressed stable men were flustering,Backing the horses out of stallsWhile this man swears and that man bawls,'Don't take th'old mare. Back, Toby, back.Back, Lincoln. Where's the fire, Jack?''Damned if I know. Out Preston way.''No. It's at Chancey's Pitch, they say.''It's sixteen ricks at Pauntley burnt.''You back old Darby out, I durn't.'They ran the big red engine out,And put 'em to with damn and shout.And then they start to raise the shire,'Who brought the news, and where's the fire?'They'd moonlight, lamps, and gas to light 'em.I give a screech-owl's screech to fright 'em,And snatch from underneath their nosesThe nozzles of the fire hoses.'I am the fire. Back, stand back,Or else I'll fetch your skulls a crack;D'you see these copper nozzles here?They weigh ten pounds apiece, my dear;I'm fire of hell come up this minuteTo burn this town, and all that's in it.To burn you dead and burn you clean,You cogwheels in a stopped machine,You hearts of snakes, and brains of pigeons,You dead devout of dead religions,You offspring of the hen and ass,By Pilate ruled, and Caiaphas.Now your account is totted. LearnHell's flames are loose and you shall burn.'At that I leaped and screamed and ran,I heard their cries go 'Catch him, man.''Who was it?' 'Down him.' 'Out him, Ern.'Duck him at pump, we'll see who'll burn.'A policeman clutched, a fireman clutched,A dozen others snatched and touched.'By God, he's stripped down to his buff.''By God, we'll make him warm enough.''After him.' 'Catch him,' 'Out him,' 'Scrob him.'We'll give him hell.' 'By God, we'll mob him.''We'll duck him, scrout him, flog him, fratch him.'All right,' I said. 'But first you'll catch him.'The men who don't know to the rootThe joy of being swift of foot,Have never known divine and freshThe glory of the gift of flesh,Nor felt the feet exult, nor goneAlong a dim road, on and on,Knowing again the bursting glows,The mating hare in April knows,Who tingles to the pads with mirthAt being the swiftest thing on earth.O, if you want to know delight,Run naked in an autumn night,And laugh, as I laughed then, to findA running rabble drop behind,And whang, on every door you pass,Two copper nozzles, tipped with brass,And doubly whang at every turning,And yell, 'All hell's let loose, and burning.'I beat my brass and shouted fireAt doors of parson, lawyer, squire,At all three doors I threshed and slammedAnd yelled aloud that they were damned.I clodded squire's glass with turvesBecause he spring-gunned his preserves.Through parson's glass my nozzle swishesBecause he stood for loaves and fishes,But parson's glass I spared a tittle.He give me an orange once when little,And he who gives a child a treatMakes joy-bells ring in Heaven's street,And he who gives a child a homeBuilds palaces in Kingdom come,And she who gives a baby birthBrings Saviour Christ again to Earth,For life is joy, and mind is fruit,And body's precious earth and root.But lawyer's glass--well, never mind,Th'old Adam's strong in me, I find.God pardon man, and may God's sonForgive the evil things I've done.What more? By Dirty Lane I creptBack to the Lion, where I slept.The raging madness hot and floodin'Boiled itself out and left me sudden,Left me worn out and sick and cold,Aching as though I'd all grown old;So there I lay, and there they found meOn door-mat, with a curtain round me.Si took my heels and Jane my headAnd laughed, and carried me to bed.And from the neighbouring street they reskiedMy boots and trousers, coat and weskit;They bath-bricked both the nozzles brightTo be mementoes of the night,And knowing what I should awake withThey flannelled me a quart to slake with,And sat and shook till half-past twoExpecting Police Inspector Drew.I woke and drank, and went to meatIn clothes still dirty from the street.Down in the bar I heard 'em tellHow someone rang the fire-bell,And how th'inspector's search had thriven,And how five pounds reward was given.And Shepherd Boyce, of Marley, glad usBy saying it was blokes from mad'us,Or two young rips lodged at the PrinceWhom none had seen nor heard of since,Or that young blade from Worcester Walk(You know how country people talk).Young Joe the ostler come in sad,He said th'old mare had bit his dad.He said there'd come a blazing screechingDaft Bible-prophet chap a-preaching,Had put th'old mare in such a takingShe'd thought the bloody earth was quaking.And others come and spread a taleOf cut-throats out of Gloucester jail,And how we needed extra copsWith all them Welsh come picking hops;With drunken Welsh in all our shedsWe might be murdered in our beds.By all accounts, both men and wivesHad had the scare up of their lives.I ate and drank and gathered strength,And stretched along the bench full length,Or crossed to window seat to patBlack Silas Jones's little cat.At four I called, 'You devil's own,The second trumpet shall be blown.The second trump, the second blast;Hell's flames are loosed, and judgment's passed.Too late for mercy now. Take warningI'm death and hell and Judgment morning.'I hurled the bench into the settle,I banged the table on the kettle,I sent Joe's quart of cider spinning.'Lo, here begins my second inning.'Each bottle, mug, and jug and potI smashed to crocks in half a tot;And Joe, and Si, and Nick, and PercyI rolled together topsy versy.And as I ran I heard 'em call,'Now damn to hell, what's gone with Saul?'Out into street I ran uproariousThe devil dancing in me glorious.And as I ran I yell and shriek'Come on, now, turn the other cheek.'Across the way by almshouse pumpI see old puffing parson stump.Old parson, red-eyed as a ferretFrom nightly wrestlings with the spirit;I ran across, and barred his path.His turkey gills went red as wrathAnd then he froze, as parsons can.'The police will deal with you, my man.''Not yet,' said I, 'not yet they won't;And now you'll hear me, like or don't.The English Church both is and wasA subsidy of Caiaphas.I don't believe in Prayer nor Bible,They're lies all through, and you're a libel,A libel on the Devil's planWhen first he miscreated man.You mumble through a formal codeTo get which martyrs burned and glowed.I look on martyrs as mistakes,But still they burned for it at stakes;Your only fire's the jolly fireWhere you can guzzle port with Squire,And back and praise his damned opinionsAbout his temporal dominions.You let him give the man who digs,A filthy hut unfit for pigs,Without a well, without a drain,With mossy thatch that lets in rain,Without a 'lotment, 'less he rent it,And never meat, unless he scent it,But weekly doles of 'leven shillingTo make a grown man strong and willing,To do the hardest work on earthAnd feed his wife when she gives birth,And feed his little children's bones.I tell you, man, the Devil groans.With all your main and all your mightYou back what is against what's right;You let the Squire do things like these,You back him in't and give him ease,You take his hand, and drink his wine,And he's a hog, but you're a swine.For you take gold to teach God's waysAnd teach man how to sing God's praise.And now I'll tell you what you teachIn downright honest English speech.'You teach the ground-down starving manThat Squire's greed's Jehovah's plan.You get his learning circumventedLest it should make him discontented(Better a brutal, starving nationThan men with thoughts above their station),You let him neither read nor think,You goad his wretched soul to drinkAnd then to jail, the drunken boor;O sad intemperance of the poor.You starve his soul till it's rapscallion,Then blame his flesh for being stallion.You send your wife around to paintThe golden glories of "restraint."How moral exercise bewild'rin'Would soon result in fewer children.You work a day in Squire's fieldsAnd see what sweet restraint it yields;A woman's day at turnip picking,Your heart's too fat for plough or ricking.'And you whom luck taught French and GreekHave purple flaps on either cheek,A stately house, and time for knowledge,And gold to send your sons to college,That pleasant place, where getting learningIs also key to money earning.But quite your damn'dest want of graceIs what you do to save your face;The way you sit astride the gatesBy padding wages out of rates;Your Christmas gifts of shoddy blanketsThat every working soul may thank itsLoving parson, loving squireThrough whom he can't afford a fire.Your well-packed bench, your prison pen,To keep them something less than men;Your friendly clubs to help 'em bury,Your charities of midwifery.Your bidding children duck and capTo them who give them workhouse pap.O, what you are, and what you preach,And what you do, and what you teachIs not God's Word, nor honest schism,But Devil's cant and pauperism.'By this time many folk had gatheredTo listen to me while I blathered;I said my piece, and when I'd said it,I'll do old purple parson credit,He sunk (as sometimes parsons can)His coat's excuses in the man.'You think that Squire and I are kingsWho made the existing state of things,And made it ill. I answer, No,States are not made, nor patched; they grow,Grow slow through centuries of painAnd grow correctly in the main,But only grow by certain lawsOf certain bits in certain jaws.You want to doctor that. Let be.You cannot patch a growing tree.Put these two words beneath your hat,These two: securus judicat.The social states of human kindsAre made by multitudes of minds.And after multitudes of yearsA little human growth appearsWorth having, even to the soulWho sees most plain it's not the whole.This state is dull and evil, both,I keep it in the path of growth;You think the Church an outworn fetter;Kane, keep it, till you've built a better.And keep the existing social state;I quite agree it's out of date,One does too much, another shirks,Unjust, I grant; but still ... it works.To get the whole world out of bedAnd washed, and dressed, and warmed, and fed,To work, and back to bed again,Believe me, Saul, costs worlds of pain.Then, as to whether true or shamThat book of Christ, Whose priest I am;The Bible is a lie, say you,Where do you stand, suppose it true?Good-bye. But if you've more to say,My doors are open night and day.Meanwhile, my friend, 'twould be no sinTo mix more water in your gin.We're neither saints nor Philip Sidneys,But mortal men with mortal kidneys.'He took his snuff, and wheezed a greeting,And waddled off to mothers' meeting;I hung my head upon my chest,I give old purple parson best.For while the Plough tips round the PoleThe trained mind outs the upright soul,As Jesus said the trained mind might,Being wiser than the sons of light,But trained men's minds are spread so thinThey let all sorts of darkness in;Whatever light man finds they doubt it,They love not light, but talk about it.But parson'd proved to people's eyesThat I was drunk, and he was wise;And people grinned and women tittered,And little children mocked and twitteredSo blazing mad, I stalked to barTo show how noble drunkards are,And guzzled spirits like a beast,To show contempt for Church and priest,Until, by six, my wits went roundLike hungry pigs in parish pound.At half-past six, rememb'ring Jane,I staggered into street againWith mind made up (or primed with gin)To bash the cop who'd run me in;For well I knew I'd have to cock upMy legs that night inside the lock-up,And it was my most fixed intentTo have a fight before I went.Our Fates are strange, and no one knows his;Our lovely Saviour Christ disposes.Jane wasn't where we'd planned, the jade.She'd thought me drunk and hadn't stayed.So I went up the Walk to look for herAnd lingered by the little brook for her,And dowsed my face, and drank at spring,And watched two wild duck on the wing.
Hot Hollands punch on top of stoutPuts madness in and wisdom out.From drunken man to drunken manThe drunken madness raged and ran.'I'm climber Joe who climbed the spire.''You're climber Joe the bloody liar.''Who says I lie?''I do.''You lie,I climbed the spire and had a fly.''I'm French Suzanne, the Circus Dancer,I'm going to dance a bloody Lancer.''If I'd my rights I'm Squire's heir.''By rights I'd be a millionaire.''By rights I'd be the lord of you,But Farmer Scriggins had his do,He done me, so I've had to hoove it,I've got it all wrote down to prove it.And one of these dark winter nightsHe'll learn I mean to have my rights;I'll bloody him a bloody fix,I'll bloody burn his bloody ricks.'
Hot Hollands punch on top of stout
Puts madness in and wisdom out.
From drunken man to drunken man
The drunken madness raged and ran.
'I'm climber Joe who climbed the spire.'
'You're climber Joe the bloody liar.'
'Who says I lie?'
'I do.''You lie,
'I do.'
'You lie,
'You lie,
I climbed the spire and had a fly.'
'I'm French Suzanne, the Circus Dancer,
I'm going to dance a bloody Lancer.'
'If I'd my rights I'm Squire's heir.'
'By rights I'd be a millionaire.'
'By rights I'd be the lord of you,
But Farmer Scriggins had his do,
He done me, so I've had to hoove it,
I've got it all wrote down to prove it.
And one of these dark winter nights
He'll learn I mean to have my rights;
I'll bloody him a bloody fix,
I'll bloody burn his bloody ricks.'
From three long hours of gin and smokes,And two girls' breath and fifteen blokes',A warmish night, and windows shut,The room stank like a fox's gut.The heat and smell and drinking deepBegan to stun the gang to sleep.Some fell downstairs to sleep on the mat,Some snored it sodden where they sat.Dick Twot had lost a tooth and wept,But all the drunken others slept.Jane slept beside me in the chair,And I got up; I wanted air.
From three long hours of gin and smokes,
And two girls' breath and fifteen blokes',
A warmish night, and windows shut,
The room stank like a fox's gut.
The heat and smell and drinking deep
Began to stun the gang to sleep.
Some fell downstairs to sleep on the mat,
Some snored it sodden where they sat.
Dick Twot had lost a tooth and wept,
But all the drunken others slept.
Jane slept beside me in the chair,
And I got up; I wanted air.
I opened window wide and leanedOut of that pigstye of the fiendAnd felt a cool wind go like graceAbout the sleeping market-place.The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly,The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy;And in a second's pause there fellThe cold note of the chapel bell,And then a cock crew, flapping wings,And summat made me think of thingsHow long those ticking clocks had goneFrom church and chapel, on and on,Ticking the time out, ticking slowTo men and girls who'd come and go,And how they ticked in belfry darkWhen half the town was bishop's park,And how they'd rung a chime full tiltThe night after the church was built,And how that night was Lambert's Feast,The night I'd fought and been a beast.And how a change had come. And thenI thought, 'You tick to different men.'What with the fight and what with drinkingAnd being awake alone there thinking,My mind began to carp and tetter,'If this life's all, the beasts are better.'And then I thought, 'I wish I'd seenThe many towns this town has been;I wish I knew if they'd a-gotA kind of summat we've a-not,If them as built the church so fairWere half the chaps folk say they were;For they'd the skill to draw their plan,And skill's a joy to any man;And they'd the strength, not skill alone,To build it beautiful in stone;And strength and skill together thus...O, they were happier men than us.
I opened window wide and leaned
Out of that pigstye of the fiend
And felt a cool wind go like grace
About the sleeping market-place.
The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly,
The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy;
And in a second's pause there fell
The cold note of the chapel bell,
And then a cock crew, flapping wings,
And summat made me think of things
How long those ticking clocks had gone
From church and chapel, on and on,
Ticking the time out, ticking slow
To men and girls who'd come and go,
And how they ticked in belfry dark
When half the town was bishop's park,
And how they'd rung a chime full tilt
The night after the church was built,
And how that night was Lambert's Feast,
The night I'd fought and been a beast.
And how a change had come. And then
I thought, 'You tick to different men.'
What with the fight and what with drinking
And being awake alone there thinking,
My mind began to carp and tetter,
'If this life's all, the beasts are better.'
And then I thought, 'I wish I'd seen
The many towns this town has been;
I wish I knew if they'd a-got
A kind of summat we've a-not,
If them as built the church so fair
Were half the chaps folk say they were;
For they'd the skill to draw their plan,
And skill's a joy to any man;
And they'd the strength, not skill alone,
To build it beautiful in stone;
And strength and skill together thus...
O, they were happier men than us.
'But if they were, they had to dieThe same as every one and I.And no one lives again, but dies,And all the bright goes out of eyes,And all the skill goes out of hands,And all the wise brain understands,And all the beauty, all the powerIs cut down like a withered flower.In all the show from birth to restI give the poor dumb cattle best.'
'But if they were, they had to die
The same as every one and I.
And no one lives again, but dies,
And all the bright goes out of eyes,
And all the skill goes out of hands,
And all the wise brain understands,
And all the beauty, all the power
Is cut down like a withered flower.
In all the show from birth to rest
I give the poor dumb cattle best.'
I wondered, then, why life should be,And what would be the end of meWhen youth and health and strength were goneAnd cold old age came creeping on?A keeper's gun? The Union ward?Or that new quod at Hereford?And looking round I felt disgustAt all the nights of drink and lust,And all the looks of all the swineWho'd said that they were friends of mine;And yet I knew, when morning came,The morning would be just the same,For I'd have drinks and Jane would meet meAnd drunken Silas Jones would greet me,And I'd risk quod and keeper's gunTill all the silly game was done.'For parson chaps are mad supposin'A chap can change the road he's chosen.'And then the Devil whispered 'Saul,Why should you want to live at all?Why fret and sweat and try to mend?It's all the same thing in the end.But when it's done,' he said, 'it's ended.Why stand it, since it can't be mended?'And in my heart I heard him plain,'Throw yourself down and end it, Kane.'
I wondered, then, why life should be,
And what would be the end of me
When youth and health and strength were gone
And cold old age came creeping on?
A keeper's gun? The Union ward?
Or that new quod at Hereford?
And looking round I felt disgust
At all the nights of drink and lust,
And all the looks of all the swine
Who'd said that they were friends of mine;
And yet I knew, when morning came,
The morning would be just the same,
For I'd have drinks and Jane would meet me
And drunken Silas Jones would greet me,
And I'd risk quod and keeper's gun
Till all the silly game was done.
'For parson chaps are mad supposin'
A chap can change the road he's chosen.'
And then the Devil whispered 'Saul,
Why should you want to live at all?
Why fret and sweat and try to mend?
It's all the same thing in the end.
But when it's done,' he said, 'it's ended.
Why stand it, since it can't be mended?'
And in my heart I heard him plain,
'Throw yourself down and end it, Kane.'
'Why not?' said I. 'Why not? But no.I won't. I've never had my go.I've not had all the world can give.Death by and by, but first I'll live.The world owes me my time of times,And that time's coming now, by crimes.'
'Why not?' said I. 'Why not? But no.
I won't. I've never had my go.
I've not had all the world can give.
Death by and by, but first I'll live.
The world owes me my time of times,
And that time's coming now, by crimes.'
A madness took me then. I feltI'd like to hit the world a belt.I felt that I could fly through air,A screaming star with blazing hair,A rushing comet, crackling, numbingThe folk with fear of judgment coming,A 'Lijah in a fiery carComing to tell folk what they are.
A madness took me then. I felt
I'd like to hit the world a belt.
I felt that I could fly through air,
A screaming star with blazing hair,
A rushing comet, crackling, numbing
The folk with fear of judgment coming,
A 'Lijah in a fiery car
Coming to tell folk what they are.
'That's what I'll do,' I shouted loud,'I'll tell this sanctimonious crowd,This town of window-peeping, prying,Maligning, peering, hinting, lying,Male and female human blotsWho would, but daren't be, whores and sots,That they're so steeped in petty viceThat they're less excellent than lice,That they're so soaked in petty virtueThat touching one of them will dirt you,Dirt you with the stain of meanCheating trade and going between,Pinching, starving, scraping, hoardingSpying through the chinks of boardingTo see if Sue the prentice leanDares to touch the margarine.Fawning, cringing, oiling boots,Raging in the crowd's pursuits,Flinging stones at all the Stephens,Standing firm with all the evens,Making hell for all the odd,All the lonely ones of God,Those poor lonely ones who findDogs more mild than human kind.For dogs,' I said, 'are nobles bornTo most of you, you cockled corn.I've known dogs to leave their dinner,Nosing a kind heart in a sinner.Poor old Crafty wagged his tailThe day I first came home from jail,When all my folk, so primly clad,Glowered black and thought me mad,And muttered how they'd been respected,While I was what they'd all expected.(I've thought of that old dog for years,And of how near I come to tears.)
'That's what I'll do,' I shouted loud,
'I'll tell this sanctimonious crowd,
This town of window-peeping, prying,
Maligning, peering, hinting, lying,
Male and female human blots
Who would, but daren't be, whores and sots,
That they're so steeped in petty vice
That they're less excellent than lice,
That they're so soaked in petty virtue
That touching one of them will dirt you,
Dirt you with the stain of mean
Cheating trade and going between,
Pinching, starving, scraping, hoarding
Spying through the chinks of boarding
To see if Sue the prentice lean
Dares to touch the margarine.
Fawning, cringing, oiling boots,
Raging in the crowd's pursuits,
Flinging stones at all the Stephens,
Standing firm with all the evens,
Making hell for all the odd,
All the lonely ones of God,
Those poor lonely ones who find
Dogs more mild than human kind.
For dogs,' I said, 'are nobles born
To most of you, you cockled corn.
I've known dogs to leave their dinner,
Nosing a kind heart in a sinner.
Poor old Crafty wagged his tail
The day I first came home from jail,
When all my folk, so primly clad,
Glowered black and thought me mad,
And muttered how they'd been respected,
While I was what they'd all expected.
(I've thought of that old dog for years,
And of how near I come to tears.)
'But you, you minds of bread and cheese,Are less divine than that dog's fleas.You suck blood from kindly friends,And kill them when it serves your ends.Double traitors, double black,Stabbing only in the back,Stabbing with the knives you borrowFrom the friends you bring to sorrow.You stab all that's true and strong;Truth and strength you say are wrong;Meek and mild, and sweet and creeping,Repeating, canting, cadging, peeping,That's the art and that's the lifeTo win a man his neighbour's wife.All that's good and all that's true,You kill that, so I'll kill you.'
'But you, you minds of bread and cheese,
Are less divine than that dog's fleas.
You suck blood from kindly friends,
And kill them when it serves your ends.
Double traitors, double black,
Stabbing only in the back,
Stabbing with the knives you borrow
From the friends you bring to sorrow.
You stab all that's true and strong;
Truth and strength you say are wrong;
Meek and mild, and sweet and creeping,
Repeating, canting, cadging, peeping,
That's the art and that's the life
To win a man his neighbour's wife.
All that's good and all that's true,
You kill that, so I'll kill you.'
At that I tore my clothes in shredsAnd hurled them on the window leads;I flung my boots through both the windersAnd knocked the glass to little flinders;The punch bowl and the tumblers followed,And then I seized the lamps and holloed.And down the stairs, and tore back bolts,As mad as twenty blooded colts;And out into the street I pass,As mad as two-year-olds at grass,A naked madman waving grandA blazing lamp in either hand.I yelled like twenty drunken sailors,'The devil's come among the tailors.'A blaze of flame behind me streamed,And then I clashed the lamps and screamed'I'm Satan, newly come from hell.'And then I spied the fire-bell.
At that I tore my clothes in shreds
And hurled them on the window leads;
I flung my boots through both the winders
And knocked the glass to little flinders;
The punch bowl and the tumblers followed,
And then I seized the lamps and holloed.
And down the stairs, and tore back bolts,
As mad as twenty blooded colts;
And out into the street I pass,
As mad as two-year-olds at grass,
A naked madman waving grand
A blazing lamp in either hand.
I yelled like twenty drunken sailors,
'The devil's come among the tailors.'
A blaze of flame behind me streamed,
And then I clashed the lamps and screamed
'I'm Satan, newly come from hell.'
And then I spied the fire-bell.
I've been a ringer, so I knowHow best to make a big bell go.So on to bell-rope swift I swoop,And stick my one foot in the loopAnd heave a down-swig till I groan,'Awake, you swine, you devil's own.'
I've been a ringer, so I know
How best to make a big bell go.
So on to bell-rope swift I swoop,
And stick my one foot in the loop
And heave a down-swig till I groan,
'Awake, you swine, you devil's own.'
I made the fire-bell awake,I felt the bell-rope throb and shake;I felt the air mingle and clangAnd beat the walls a muffled bang,And stifle back and boom and bayLike muffled peals on Boxing Day,And then surge up and gather shape,And spread great pinions and escape;And each great bird of clanging shrieksO Fire, Fire! from iron beaks.My shoulders cracked to send aroundThose shrieking birds made out of soundWith news of fire in their bills.(They heard 'em plain beyond Wall Hills.)
I made the fire-bell awake,
I felt the bell-rope throb and shake;
I felt the air mingle and clang
And beat the walls a muffled bang,
And stifle back and boom and bay
Like muffled peals on Boxing Day,
And then surge up and gather shape,
And spread great pinions and escape;
And each great bird of clanging shrieks
O Fire, Fire! from iron beaks.
My shoulders cracked to send around
Those shrieking birds made out of sound
With news of fire in their bills.
(They heard 'em plain beyond Wall Hills.)
Up go the winders, out come heads,I heard the springs go creak in beds;But still I heave and sweat and tire,And still the clang goes 'Fire, Fire!''Where is it, then? Who is it, there?You ringer, stop, and tell us where.''Run round and let the Captain know.''It must be bad, he's ringing so.'
Up go the winders, out come heads,
I heard the springs go creak in beds;
But still I heave and sweat and tire,
And still the clang goes 'Fire, Fire!'
'Where is it, then? Who is it, there?
You ringer, stop, and tell us where.'
'Run round and let the Captain know.'
'It must be bad, he's ringing so.'
'It's in the town, I see the flame;Look there! Look there, how red it came.''Where is it, then 'O stop the bell.'I stopped and called: 'It's fire of hell;And this is Sodom and Gomorrah,And now I'll burn you up, begorra.'
'It's in the town, I see the flame;
Look there! Look there, how red it came.'
'Where is it, then 'O stop the bell.'
I stopped and called: 'It's fire of hell;
And this is Sodom and Gomorrah,
And now I'll burn you up, begorra.'
By this the firemen were mustering,The half-dressed stable men were flustering,Backing the horses out of stallsWhile this man swears and that man bawls,'Don't take th'old mare. Back, Toby, back.Back, Lincoln. Where's the fire, Jack?''Damned if I know. Out Preston way.''No. It's at Chancey's Pitch, they say.''It's sixteen ricks at Pauntley burnt.''You back old Darby out, I durn't.'They ran the big red engine out,And put 'em to with damn and shout.And then they start to raise the shire,'Who brought the news, and where's the fire?'They'd moonlight, lamps, and gas to light 'em.I give a screech-owl's screech to fright 'em,And snatch from underneath their nosesThe nozzles of the fire hoses.'I am the fire. Back, stand back,Or else I'll fetch your skulls a crack;D'you see these copper nozzles here?They weigh ten pounds apiece, my dear;I'm fire of hell come up this minuteTo burn this town, and all that's in it.To burn you dead and burn you clean,You cogwheels in a stopped machine,You hearts of snakes, and brains of pigeons,You dead devout of dead religions,You offspring of the hen and ass,By Pilate ruled, and Caiaphas.Now your account is totted. LearnHell's flames are loose and you shall burn.'
By this the firemen were mustering,
The half-dressed stable men were flustering,
Backing the horses out of stalls
While this man swears and that man bawls,
'Don't take th'old mare. Back, Toby, back.
Back, Lincoln. Where's the fire, Jack?'
'Damned if I know. Out Preston way.'
'No. It's at Chancey's Pitch, they say.'
'It's sixteen ricks at Pauntley burnt.'
'You back old Darby out, I durn't.'
They ran the big red engine out,
And put 'em to with damn and shout.
And then they start to raise the shire,
'Who brought the news, and where's the fire?'
They'd moonlight, lamps, and gas to light 'em.
I give a screech-owl's screech to fright 'em,
And snatch from underneath their noses
The nozzles of the fire hoses.
'I am the fire. Back, stand back,
Or else I'll fetch your skulls a crack;
D'you see these copper nozzles here?
They weigh ten pounds apiece, my dear;
I'm fire of hell come up this minute
To burn this town, and all that's in it.
To burn you dead and burn you clean,
You cogwheels in a stopped machine,
You hearts of snakes, and brains of pigeons,
You dead devout of dead religions,
You offspring of the hen and ass,
By Pilate ruled, and Caiaphas.
Now your account is totted. Learn
Hell's flames are loose and you shall burn.'
At that I leaped and screamed and ran,I heard their cries go 'Catch him, man.''Who was it?' 'Down him.' 'Out him, Ern.'Duck him at pump, we'll see who'll burn.'A policeman clutched, a fireman clutched,A dozen others snatched and touched.'By God, he's stripped down to his buff.''By God, we'll make him warm enough.''After him.' 'Catch him,' 'Out him,' 'Scrob him.'We'll give him hell.' 'By God, we'll mob him.''We'll duck him, scrout him, flog him, fratch him.'All right,' I said. 'But first you'll catch him.'
At that I leaped and screamed and ran,
I heard their cries go 'Catch him, man.'
'Who was it?' 'Down him.' 'Out him, Ern.
'Duck him at pump, we'll see who'll burn.'
A policeman clutched, a fireman clutched,
A dozen others snatched and touched.
'By God, he's stripped down to his buff.'
'By God, we'll make him warm enough.'
'After him.' 'Catch him,' 'Out him,' 'Scrob him.
'We'll give him hell.' 'By God, we'll mob him.'
'We'll duck him, scrout him, flog him, fratch him.
'All right,' I said. 'But first you'll catch him.'
The men who don't know to the rootThe joy of being swift of foot,Have never known divine and freshThe glory of the gift of flesh,Nor felt the feet exult, nor goneAlong a dim road, on and on,Knowing again the bursting glows,The mating hare in April knows,Who tingles to the pads with mirthAt being the swiftest thing on earth.O, if you want to know delight,Run naked in an autumn night,And laugh, as I laughed then, to findA running rabble drop behind,And whang, on every door you pass,Two copper nozzles, tipped with brass,And doubly whang at every turning,And yell, 'All hell's let loose, and burning.'
The men who don't know to the root
The joy of being swift of foot,
Have never known divine and fresh
The glory of the gift of flesh,
Nor felt the feet exult, nor gone
Along a dim road, on and on,
Knowing again the bursting glows,
The mating hare in April knows,
Who tingles to the pads with mirth
At being the swiftest thing on earth.
O, if you want to know delight,
Run naked in an autumn night,
And laugh, as I laughed then, to find
A running rabble drop behind,
And whang, on every door you pass,
Two copper nozzles, tipped with brass,
And doubly whang at every turning,
And yell, 'All hell's let loose, and burning.'
I beat my brass and shouted fireAt doors of parson, lawyer, squire,At all three doors I threshed and slammedAnd yelled aloud that they were damned.I clodded squire's glass with turvesBecause he spring-gunned his preserves.Through parson's glass my nozzle swishesBecause he stood for loaves and fishes,But parson's glass I spared a tittle.He give me an orange once when little,And he who gives a child a treatMakes joy-bells ring in Heaven's street,And he who gives a child a homeBuilds palaces in Kingdom come,And she who gives a baby birthBrings Saviour Christ again to Earth,For life is joy, and mind is fruit,And body's precious earth and root.But lawyer's glass--well, never mind,Th'old Adam's strong in me, I find.God pardon man, and may God's sonForgive the evil things I've done.
I beat my brass and shouted fire
At doors of parson, lawyer, squire,
At all three doors I threshed and slammed
And yelled aloud that they were damned.
I clodded squire's glass with turves
Because he spring-gunned his preserves.
Through parson's glass my nozzle swishes
Because he stood for loaves and fishes,
But parson's glass I spared a tittle.
He give me an orange once when little,
And he who gives a child a treat
Makes joy-bells ring in Heaven's street,
And he who gives a child a home
Builds palaces in Kingdom come,
And she who gives a baby birth
Brings Saviour Christ again to Earth,
For life is joy, and mind is fruit,
And body's precious earth and root.
But lawyer's glass--well, never mind,
Th'old Adam's strong in me, I find.
God pardon man, and may God's son
Forgive the evil things I've done.
What more? By Dirty Lane I creptBack to the Lion, where I slept.The raging madness hot and floodin'Boiled itself out and left me sudden,Left me worn out and sick and cold,Aching as though I'd all grown old;So there I lay, and there they found meOn door-mat, with a curtain round me.Si took my heels and Jane my headAnd laughed, and carried me to bed.And from the neighbouring street they reskiedMy boots and trousers, coat and weskit;They bath-bricked both the nozzles brightTo be mementoes of the night,And knowing what I should awake withThey flannelled me a quart to slake with,And sat and shook till half-past twoExpecting Police Inspector Drew.
What more? By Dirty Lane I crept
Back to the Lion, where I slept.
The raging madness hot and floodin'
Boiled itself out and left me sudden,
Left me worn out and sick and cold,
Aching as though I'd all grown old;
So there I lay, and there they found me
On door-mat, with a curtain round me.
Si took my heels and Jane my head
And laughed, and carried me to bed.
And from the neighbouring street they reskied
My boots and trousers, coat and weskit;
They bath-bricked both the nozzles bright
To be mementoes of the night,
And knowing what I should awake with
They flannelled me a quart to slake with,
And sat and shook till half-past two
Expecting Police Inspector Drew.
I woke and drank, and went to meatIn clothes still dirty from the street.Down in the bar I heard 'em tellHow someone rang the fire-bell,And how th'inspector's search had thriven,And how five pounds reward was given.And Shepherd Boyce, of Marley, glad usBy saying it was blokes from mad'us,Or two young rips lodged at the PrinceWhom none had seen nor heard of since,Or that young blade from Worcester Walk(You know how country people talk).
I woke and drank, and went to meat
In clothes still dirty from the street.
Down in the bar I heard 'em tell
How someone rang the fire-bell,
And how th'inspector's search had thriven,
And how five pounds reward was given.
And Shepherd Boyce, of Marley, glad us
By saying it was blokes from mad'us,
Or two young rips lodged at the Prince
Whom none had seen nor heard of since,
Or that young blade from Worcester Walk
(You know how country people talk).
Young Joe the ostler come in sad,He said th'old mare had bit his dad.He said there'd come a blazing screechingDaft Bible-prophet chap a-preaching,Had put th'old mare in such a takingShe'd thought the bloody earth was quaking.And others come and spread a taleOf cut-throats out of Gloucester jail,And how we needed extra copsWith all them Welsh come picking hops;With drunken Welsh in all our shedsWe might be murdered in our beds.By all accounts, both men and wivesHad had the scare up of their lives.
Young Joe the ostler come in sad,
He said th'old mare had bit his dad.
He said there'd come a blazing screeching
Daft Bible-prophet chap a-preaching,
Had put th'old mare in such a taking
She'd thought the bloody earth was quaking.
And others come and spread a tale
Of cut-throats out of Gloucester jail,
And how we needed extra cops
With all them Welsh come picking hops;
With drunken Welsh in all our sheds
We might be murdered in our beds.
By all accounts, both men and wives
Had had the scare up of their lives.
I ate and drank and gathered strength,And stretched along the bench full length,Or crossed to window seat to patBlack Silas Jones's little cat.At four I called, 'You devil's own,The second trumpet shall be blown.The second trump, the second blast;Hell's flames are loosed, and judgment's passed.Too late for mercy now. Take warningI'm death and hell and Judgment morning.'I hurled the bench into the settle,I banged the table on the kettle,I sent Joe's quart of cider spinning.'Lo, here begins my second inning.'Each bottle, mug, and jug and potI smashed to crocks in half a tot;And Joe, and Si, and Nick, and PercyI rolled together topsy versy.And as I ran I heard 'em call,'Now damn to hell, what's gone with Saul?'
I ate and drank and gathered strength,
And stretched along the bench full length,
Or crossed to window seat to pat
Black Silas Jones's little cat.
At four I called, 'You devil's own,
The second trumpet shall be blown.
The second trump, the second blast;
Hell's flames are loosed, and judgment's passed.
Too late for mercy now. Take warning
I'm death and hell and Judgment morning.'
I hurled the bench into the settle,
I banged the table on the kettle,
I sent Joe's quart of cider spinning.
'Lo, here begins my second inning.'
Each bottle, mug, and jug and pot
I smashed to crocks in half a tot;
And Joe, and Si, and Nick, and Percy
I rolled together topsy versy.
And as I ran I heard 'em call,
'Now damn to hell, what's gone with Saul?'
Out into street I ran uproariousThe devil dancing in me glorious.And as I ran I yell and shriek'Come on, now, turn the other cheek.'Across the way by almshouse pumpI see old puffing parson stump.Old parson, red-eyed as a ferretFrom nightly wrestlings with the spirit;I ran across, and barred his path.His turkey gills went red as wrathAnd then he froze, as parsons can.'The police will deal with you, my man.''Not yet,' said I, 'not yet they won't;And now you'll hear me, like or don't.The English Church both is and wasA subsidy of Caiaphas.I don't believe in Prayer nor Bible,They're lies all through, and you're a libel,A libel on the Devil's planWhen first he miscreated man.You mumble through a formal codeTo get which martyrs burned and glowed.I look on martyrs as mistakes,But still they burned for it at stakes;Your only fire's the jolly fireWhere you can guzzle port with Squire,And back and praise his damned opinionsAbout his temporal dominions.You let him give the man who digs,A filthy hut unfit for pigs,Without a well, without a drain,With mossy thatch that lets in rain,Without a 'lotment, 'less he rent it,And never meat, unless he scent it,But weekly doles of 'leven shillingTo make a grown man strong and willing,To do the hardest work on earthAnd feed his wife when she gives birth,And feed his little children's bones.I tell you, man, the Devil groans.With all your main and all your mightYou back what is against what's right;You let the Squire do things like these,You back him in't and give him ease,You take his hand, and drink his wine,And he's a hog, but you're a swine.For you take gold to teach God's waysAnd teach man how to sing God's praise.And now I'll tell you what you teachIn downright honest English speech.
Out into street I ran uproarious
The devil dancing in me glorious.
And as I ran I yell and shriek
'Come on, now, turn the other cheek.'
Across the way by almshouse pump
I see old puffing parson stump.
Old parson, red-eyed as a ferret
From nightly wrestlings with the spirit;
I ran across, and barred his path.
His turkey gills went red as wrath
And then he froze, as parsons can.
'The police will deal with you, my man.'
'Not yet,' said I, 'not yet they won't;
And now you'll hear me, like or don't.
The English Church both is and was
A subsidy of Caiaphas.
I don't believe in Prayer nor Bible,
They're lies all through, and you're a libel,
A libel on the Devil's plan
When first he miscreated man.
You mumble through a formal code
To get which martyrs burned and glowed.
I look on martyrs as mistakes,
But still they burned for it at stakes;
Your only fire's the jolly fire
Where you can guzzle port with Squire,
And back and praise his damned opinions
About his temporal dominions.
You let him give the man who digs,
A filthy hut unfit for pigs,
Without a well, without a drain,
With mossy thatch that lets in rain,
Without a 'lotment, 'less he rent it,
And never meat, unless he scent it,
But weekly doles of 'leven shilling
To make a grown man strong and willing,
To do the hardest work on earth
And feed his wife when she gives birth,
And feed his little children's bones.
I tell you, man, the Devil groans.
With all your main and all your might
You back what is against what's right;
You let the Squire do things like these,
You back him in't and give him ease,
You take his hand, and drink his wine,
And he's a hog, but you're a swine.
For you take gold to teach God's ways
And teach man how to sing God's praise.
And now I'll tell you what you teach
In downright honest English speech.
'You teach the ground-down starving manThat Squire's greed's Jehovah's plan.You get his learning circumventedLest it should make him discontented(Better a brutal, starving nationThan men with thoughts above their station),You let him neither read nor think,You goad his wretched soul to drinkAnd then to jail, the drunken boor;O sad intemperance of the poor.You starve his soul till it's rapscallion,Then blame his flesh for being stallion.You send your wife around to paintThe golden glories of "restraint."How moral exercise bewild'rin'Would soon result in fewer children.You work a day in Squire's fieldsAnd see what sweet restraint it yields;A woman's day at turnip picking,Your heart's too fat for plough or ricking.
'You teach the ground-down starving man
That Squire's greed's Jehovah's plan.
You get his learning circumvented
Lest it should make him discontented
(Better a brutal, starving nation
Than men with thoughts above their station),
You let him neither read nor think,
You goad his wretched soul to drink
And then to jail, the drunken boor;
O sad intemperance of the poor.
You starve his soul till it's rapscallion,
Then blame his flesh for being stallion.
You send your wife around to paint
The golden glories of "restraint."
How moral exercise bewild'rin'
Would soon result in fewer children.
You work a day in Squire's fields
And see what sweet restraint it yields;
A woman's day at turnip picking,
Your heart's too fat for plough or ricking.
'And you whom luck taught French and GreekHave purple flaps on either cheek,A stately house, and time for knowledge,And gold to send your sons to college,That pleasant place, where getting learningIs also key to money earning.But quite your damn'dest want of graceIs what you do to save your face;The way you sit astride the gatesBy padding wages out of rates;Your Christmas gifts of shoddy blanketsThat every working soul may thank itsLoving parson, loving squireThrough whom he can't afford a fire.Your well-packed bench, your prison pen,To keep them something less than men;Your friendly clubs to help 'em bury,Your charities of midwifery.Your bidding children duck and capTo them who give them workhouse pap.O, what you are, and what you preach,And what you do, and what you teachIs not God's Word, nor honest schism,But Devil's cant and pauperism.'
'And you whom luck taught French and Greek
Have purple flaps on either cheek,
A stately house, and time for knowledge,
And gold to send your sons to college,
That pleasant place, where getting learning
Is also key to money earning.
But quite your damn'dest want of grace
Is what you do to save your face;
The way you sit astride the gates
By padding wages out of rates;
Your Christmas gifts of shoddy blankets
That every working soul may thank its
Loving parson, loving squire
Through whom he can't afford a fire.
Your well-packed bench, your prison pen,
To keep them something less than men;
Your friendly clubs to help 'em bury,
Your charities of midwifery.
Your bidding children duck and cap
To them who give them workhouse pap.
O, what you are, and what you preach,
And what you do, and what you teach
Is not God's Word, nor honest schism,
But Devil's cant and pauperism.'
By this time many folk had gatheredTo listen to me while I blathered;I said my piece, and when I'd said it,I'll do old purple parson credit,He sunk (as sometimes parsons can)His coat's excuses in the man.'You think that Squire and I are kingsWho made the existing state of things,And made it ill. I answer, No,States are not made, nor patched; they grow,Grow slow through centuries of painAnd grow correctly in the main,But only grow by certain lawsOf certain bits in certain jaws.You want to doctor that. Let be.You cannot patch a growing tree.Put these two words beneath your hat,These two: securus judicat.
By this time many folk had gathered
To listen to me while I blathered;
I said my piece, and when I'd said it,
I'll do old purple parson credit,
He sunk (as sometimes parsons can)
His coat's excuses in the man.
'You think that Squire and I are kings
Who made the existing state of things,
And made it ill. I answer, No,
States are not made, nor patched; they grow,
Grow slow through centuries of pain
And grow correctly in the main,
But only grow by certain laws
Of certain bits in certain jaws.
You want to doctor that. Let be.
You cannot patch a growing tree.
Put these two words beneath your hat,
These two: securus judicat.
The social states of human kindsAre made by multitudes of minds.And after multitudes of yearsA little human growth appearsWorth having, even to the soulWho sees most plain it's not the whole.This state is dull and evil, both,I keep it in the path of growth;You think the Church an outworn fetter;Kane, keep it, till you've built a better.And keep the existing social state;I quite agree it's out of date,One does too much, another shirks,Unjust, I grant; but still ... it works.To get the whole world out of bedAnd washed, and dressed, and warmed, and fed,To work, and back to bed again,Believe me, Saul, costs worlds of pain.Then, as to whether true or shamThat book of Christ, Whose priest I am;The Bible is a lie, say you,Where do you stand, suppose it true?
The social states of human kinds
Are made by multitudes of minds.
And after multitudes of years
A little human growth appears
Worth having, even to the soul
Who sees most plain it's not the whole.
This state is dull and evil, both,
I keep it in the path of growth;
You think the Church an outworn fetter;
Kane, keep it, till you've built a better.
And keep the existing social state;
I quite agree it's out of date,
One does too much, another shirks,
Unjust, I grant; but still ... it works.
To get the whole world out of bed
And washed, and dressed, and warmed, and fed,
To work, and back to bed again,
Believe me, Saul, costs worlds of pain.
Then, as to whether true or sham
That book of Christ, Whose priest I am;
The Bible is a lie, say you,
Where do you stand, suppose it true?
Good-bye. But if you've more to say,My doors are open night and day.Meanwhile, my friend, 'twould be no sinTo mix more water in your gin.We're neither saints nor Philip Sidneys,But mortal men with mortal kidneys.'He took his snuff, and wheezed a greeting,And waddled off to mothers' meeting;I hung my head upon my chest,I give old purple parson best.For while the Plough tips round the PoleThe trained mind outs the upright soul,As Jesus said the trained mind might,Being wiser than the sons of light,But trained men's minds are spread so thinThey let all sorts of darkness in;Whatever light man finds they doubt it,They love not light, but talk about it.
Good-bye. But if you've more to say,
My doors are open night and day.
Meanwhile, my friend, 'twould be no sin
To mix more water in your gin.
We're neither saints nor Philip Sidneys,
But mortal men with mortal kidneys.'
He took his snuff, and wheezed a greeting,
And waddled off to mothers' meeting;
I hung my head upon my chest,
I give old purple parson best.
For while the Plough tips round the Pole
The trained mind outs the upright soul,
As Jesus said the trained mind might,
Being wiser than the sons of light,
But trained men's minds are spread so thin
They let all sorts of darkness in;
Whatever light man finds they doubt it,
They love not light, but talk about it.
But parson'd proved to people's eyesThat I was drunk, and he was wise;And people grinned and women tittered,And little children mocked and twitteredSo blazing mad, I stalked to barTo show how noble drunkards are,And guzzled spirits like a beast,To show contempt for Church and priest,Until, by six, my wits went roundLike hungry pigs in parish pound.At half-past six, rememb'ring Jane,I staggered into street againWith mind made up (or primed with gin)To bash the cop who'd run me in;For well I knew I'd have to cock upMy legs that night inside the lock-up,And it was my most fixed intentTo have a fight before I went.Our Fates are strange, and no one knows his;Our lovely Saviour Christ disposes.
But parson'd proved to people's eyes
That I was drunk, and he was wise;
And people grinned and women tittered,
And little children mocked and twittered
So blazing mad, I stalked to bar
To show how noble drunkards are,
And guzzled spirits like a beast,
To show contempt for Church and priest,
Until, by six, my wits went round
Like hungry pigs in parish pound.
At half-past six, rememb'ring Jane,
I staggered into street again
With mind made up (or primed with gin)
To bash the cop who'd run me in;
For well I knew I'd have to cock up
My legs that night inside the lock-up,
And it was my most fixed intent
To have a fight before I went.
Our Fates are strange, and no one knows his;
Our lovely Saviour Christ disposes.
Jane wasn't where we'd planned, the jade.She'd thought me drunk and hadn't stayed.So I went up the Walk to look for herAnd lingered by the little brook for her,And dowsed my face, and drank at spring,And watched two wild duck on the wing.
Jane wasn't where we'd planned, the jade.
She'd thought me drunk and hadn't stayed.
So I went up the Walk to look for her
And lingered by the little brook for her,
And dowsed my face, and drank at spring,
And watched two wild duck on the wing.