Volume Iv Part 29 (1/2)

William Ernest Henley [1849-1903]

VILLON'S BALLADE Of Good Counsel, To His Friends Of Evil Life

Nay, be you pardoner or cheat, Or cogger keen, or mumper shy, You'll burn your fingers at the feat, And howl like other folks that fry.

All evil folks that love a lie!

And where goes gain that greed ama.s.ses, By wile, and guile, and thievery?

'Tis all to taverns and to la.s.ses!

Rhyme, rail, dance, play the cymbals sweet, With game, and shame, and jollity, Go jigging through the field and street, With myst'ry and morality; Win gold at gleek,--and that will fly, Where all your gain at pa.s.sage pa.s.ses,-- And that's? You know as well as I, 'Tis all to taverns and to la.s.ses!

Nay, forth from all such filth retreat, Go delve and ditch, in wet or dry, Turn groom, give horse and mule their meat, If you've no clerkly skill to ply; You'll gain enough, with husbandry, But--sow hempseed and such wild gra.s.ses, And where goes all you take thereby?-- 'Tis all to taverns and to la.s.ses!

ENVOY Your clothes, your hose, your broidery, Your linen that the snow surpa.s.ses, Or ere they're worn, off, off they fly, 'Tis all to taverns and to la.s.ses!

Andrew Lang [1844-1912]

A LITTLE BROTHER OF THE RICH

To put new s.h.i.+ngles on old roofs; To give old women wadded skirts; To treat premonitory coughs With seasonable flannel s.h.i.+rts; To soothe the stings of poverty And keep the jackal from the door,-- These are the works that occupy The Little Sister of the Poor.

She carries, everywhere she goes, Kind words and chickens, jams and coals; Poultices for corporeal woes, And sympathy for downcast souls: Her currant jelly, her quinine, The lips of fever move to bless; She makes the humble sick-room s.h.i.+ne With unaccustomed tidiness.

A heart of hers the instant twin And vivid counterpart is mine; I also serve my fellow-men, Though in a somewhat different line.

The Poor, and their concerns, she has Monopolized, because of which It falls to me to labor as A Little Brother of the Rich.

For their sake at no sacrifice Does my devoted spirit quail; I give their horses exercise; As ballast on their yachts I sail.

Upon their tallyhos I ride And brave the chances of a storm; I even use my own inside To keep their wines and victuals warm.

Those whom we strive to benefit Dear to our hearts soon grow to be; I love my Rich, and I admit That they are very good to me.

Succor the Poor, my sisters,--I, While heaven shall still vouchsafe me health, Will strive to share and mollify The trials of abounding wealth.

Edward Sandford Martin [1856-

THE WORLD'S WAY

At Haroun's court it chanced, upon a time, An Arab poet made this pleasant rhyme:

”The new moon is a horseshoe, wrought of G.o.d, Wherewith the Sultan's stallion shall be shod.”