Part 3 (1/2)

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.'

'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 h.e.l.l; 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 fl.u.s.tering, 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?'

'd.a.m.ned 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 d.a.m.n and shout.

And then they start to raise the s.h.i.+re, '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 s.n.a.t.c.h 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 h.e.l.l 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 a.s.s, By Pilate ruled, and Caiaphas.

Now your account is totted. Learn h.e.l.l'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 s.n.a.t.c.hed and touched.

'By G.o.d, he's stripped down to his buff.'

'By G.o.d, we'll make him warm enough.'

'After him.' 'Catch him,' 'Out him,' 'Scrob him.

'We'll give him h.e.l.l.' 'By G.o.d, 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 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 pa.s.s, Two copper nozzles, tipped with bra.s.s, And doubly whang at every turning, And yell, 'All h.e.l.l's let loose, and burning.'

I beat my bra.s.s and shouted fire At doors of parson, lawyer, squire, At all three doors I threshed and slammed And yelled aloud that they were d.a.m.ned.

I clodded squire's gla.s.s with turves Because he spring-gunned his preserves.

Through parson's gla.s.s my nozzle swishes Because he stood for loaves and fishes, But parson's gla.s.s I spared a t.i.ttle.

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 gla.s.s--well, never mind, Th'old Adam's strong in me, I find.

G.o.d pardon man, and may G.o.d's son Forgive the evil things I've done.

What more? By Dirty Lane I crept Back to the Lion, where I slept.

The raging madness hot and floodin'