Part 2 (1/2)

And fifteen arms went round her waist.

(And then men ask, Are Barmaids chaste?)

O young men, pray to be kept whole From bringing down a weaker soul.

Your minute's joy so meet in doin'

May be the woman's door to ruin; The door to wandering up and down, A painted wh.o.r.e at half a crown.

The bright mind fouled, the beauty gay All eaten out and fallen away, By drunken days and weary tramps From pub to pub by city lamps, Till men despise the game they started Till health and beauty are departed, And in a slum the reeking hag Mumbles a crust with toothy jag, Or gets the river's help to end The life too wrecked for man to mend.

We spat and smoked and took our swipe Till Silas up and tap his pipe, And begged us all to pay attention Because he'd several things to mention.

We'd seen the fight (Hear, hear. That's you); But still one task remained to do; That task was his, he didn't shun it, To give the purse to him as won it; With this remark, from start to out He'd never seen a brisker bout.

There was the purse. At that he'd leave it.

Let Kane come forward to receive it.

I took the purse and hemmed and bowed, And called for gin punch for the crowd; And when the second bowl was done, I called, 'Let's have another one.'

Si's wife come in and sipped and sipped (As women will) till she was pipped.

And Si hit d.i.c.ky Twot a clouter Because he put his arm about her; But after Si got overtasked She sat and kissed whoever asked.

My Doxy Jane was splashed by this, I took her on my knee to kiss.

And Tom cried out, 'O d.a.m.n the gin; Why can't we all have women in?

Bess Evans, now, or Sister Polly, Or those two housemaids at the Folly?

Let someone nip to Biddy Price's, They'd all come in a brace of trices.

Rose Davies, Sue, and Betsy Perks; One man, one girl, and d.a.m.n all Turks.'

But, no. 'More gin,' they cried; 'Come on.

We'll have the girls in when it's gone.'

So round the gin went, hot and heady, Hot Hollands punch on top of deady.

Hot Hollands punch on top of stout Puts madness in and wisdom out.

From drunken man to drunken man The drunken madness raged and ran.

'I'm climber Joe who climbed the spire.'

'You're climber Joe the b.l.o.o.d.y 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 b.l.o.o.d.y him a b.l.o.o.d.y fix, I'll b.l.o.o.d.y burn his b.l.o.o.d.y ricks.'

From three long hours of gin and smokes, And two girls' breath and fifteen blokes', A warmish night, and windows shut, The room stank like a fox's gut.

The heat and smell and drinking deep Began to stun the gang to sleep.

Some fell downstairs to sleep on the mat, Some snored it sodden where they sat.

d.i.c.k Twot had lost a tooth and wept, But all the drunken others slept.

Jane slept beside me in the chair, And I got up; I wanted air.

I opened window wide and leaned Out of that pigstye of the fiend And felt a cool wind go like grace About the sleeping market-place.

The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly, The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy; And in a second's pause there fell The cold note of the chapel bell, And then a c.o.c.k 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...