Part 2 (1/2)

BEGGAR TO BEGGAR CRIED

'Time to put off the world and go somewhere And find my health again in the sea air,'

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck, 'And make my soul before my pate is bare.'

'And get a comfortable wife and house To rid me of the devil in my shoes,'

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck, 'And the worse devil that is between my thighs.'

'And though I'd marry with a comely la.s.s, She need not be too comely--let it pa.s.s,'

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck, 'But there's a devil in a looking-gla.s.s.'

'Nor should she be too rich, because the rich Are driven by wealth as beggars by the itch,'

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck, 'And cannot have a humorous happy speech.'

'And there I'll grow respected at my ease, And hear amid the garden's nightly peace,'

Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck, 'The wind-blown clamor of the barnacle-geese.'

THE WELL AND THE TREE

'The Man that I praise,'

Cries out the empty well, 'Lives all his days Where a hand on the bell Can call the milch-cows To the comfortable door of his house.

Who but an idiot would praise Dry stones in a well?'

'The Man that I praise,'

Cries out the leafless tree, 'Has married and stays By an old hearth, and he On naught has set store But children and dogs on the floor.

Who but an idiot would praise A withered tree?'

RUNNING TO PARADISE

As I came over Windy Gap They threw a halfpenny into my cap, For I am running to Paradise; And all that I need do is to wish And somebody puts his hand in the dish To throw me a bit of salted fish: And there the king _is_ but as the beggar.

My brother Mourteen is worn out With skelping his big brawling lout, And I am running to Paradise; A poor life do what he can, And though he keep a dog and a gun, A serving maid and a serving man: And there the king _is_ but as the beggar.

Poor men have grown to be rich men, And rich men grown to be poor again, And I am running to Paradise; And many a darling wit's grown dull That tossed a bare heel when at school, Now it has filled an old sock full: And there the king _is_ but as the beggar.

The wind is old and still at play While I must hurry upon my way, For I am running to Paradise; Yet never have I lit on a friend To take my fancy like the wind That n.o.body can buy or bind: And there the king _is_ but as the beggar.

THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN

A one-legged, one-armed, one-eyed man, A bundle of rags upon a crutch, Stumbled on windy Cruachan Cursing the wind. It was as much As the one st.u.r.dy leg could do To keep him upright while he cursed.

He had counted, where long years ago Queen Maeve's nine Maines had been nursed, A pair of lapwings, one old sheep And not a house to the plain's edge, When close to his right hand a heap Of grey stones and a rocky ledge Reminded him that he could make, If he but s.h.i.+fted a few stones, A shelter till the daylight broke.