Part 2 (2/2)

O, they were happier men than us.

'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 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 l.u.s.t, 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.'

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 rus.h.i.+ng 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 blots Who would, but daren't be, wh.o.r.es 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, sc.r.a.ping, h.o.a.rding Spying through the c.h.i.n.ks 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 h.e.l.l for all the odd, All the lonely ones of G.o.d, Those poor lonely ones who find Dogs more mild than human kind.

For dogs,' I said, 'are n.o.bles born To most of you, you c.o.c.kled 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 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 shreds And hurled them on the window leads; I flung my boots through both the winders And knocked the gla.s.s 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 pa.s.s, As mad as two-year-olds at gra.s.s, 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 h.e.l.l.'

And then I spied the fire-bell.

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 clang And beat the walls a m.u.f.fled bang, And stifle back and boom and bay Like m.u.f.fled 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.

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