Part 2

PIERROT. [_Rising._] Come dear, and let us go, Together, hand in hand, Into that sun-lit land, Where life and love are things inseparable. Where, beneath cloudless skies, The happy are the wise, And none reprove the glory of a love they may not understand.

[_Exit together._ [_It becomes quite dark_: DAN’L _and an_ OLD MAN _pass slowly across the stage, carrying lanterns, and peering cautiously into the blackness of the night_.

THE OLD MAN. You was dreaming, Dan’l. That’s about the size of it.

DAN’L. And I tells ee I wur as wide awake as you be. Us had been sitting over-long by the clump, and all of a sudden I looks up and sees a fairy. “Lawks-a-mussey, Nathan’l,” I sez, “be I dreaming or be I cracked?”

[_They pass off, and the curtain falls._

FINIS

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

OTHER VERSES

THE MARIONETTE

Man is merely a marionette On invisible wires suspended. And it’s just as well he shouldn’t forget That Fate the showman is in the wings, Working the business and pulling the strings Till his turn is over and ended.

Man is merely a figure on strings, By the glare of the footlights blinded. And the wonderful way he dances and sings Is not unlikely to fill his mind With a great contempt for the Power behind, Till suddenly he’s reminded.

Man is the cream of an idle jest, A smile on the face of sorrow. A sad peculiar figure at best; Willing to sacrifice every day, Breaking his heart in the hope of play On a problematical morrow.

A LETTER FROM HOME

I’ve a letter from home to-day; A letter from home to say That they’re cutting the trees in the Priory Wood, That lambing is over and crops are good. Quite the usual thing, be it understood, Is my letter from home, to-day.

I’ve a letter from home, to-day; A letter from far away, Bidding me ever to bear in mind The dear old friends I have left behind. But I’m not of the quickly forgetting kind, Dear letter from home, to-day!

In my letter from home, to-day; Is a postscript, just to say “No doubt you’ll be very much grieved to hear That the girl who stayed at the Grange last year, Is dead, and was yesterday buried here.” And the world has ended, to-day.

THE EXPLANATION

How do I know I love you? Why, because When you’re away, d’ye see, I kind o’ wanders lonesome like An’ frets, ’Cause you’re not there with me. An’ when I meet you by the stile At night, And not a soul to see, I scarce durst speak to you because You’re you, an’ I’m just me.

MEMORANDA

In your Book of Memory, Set aside no page for me. Do not write our friendship there, But, if you’ve the time to spare, Scribble just this hurried line: “He was once a friend of mine.”

Blot it very carefully, Turn the page that none may see. Life goes singing down the way Different ballads every day. Other pages open fair, Set new tales of friendship there.

And the day will come maybe, When that hurried line of me; Seen by chance a moment’s space, Will recall a vanished face, And a memory sweeter than Many written pages can.

LOVE, LAUGHTER, AND AFTER

The ruinous cottage, the broken latch; The cold stone floor and the dripping thatch. The ripe red lips of the girl who stands Holding her lover’s hands.

The gay Casino, the fancy ball; The twinkling lights of the crowded hall. The cool sweet air of the terrace dim, Love and laughter and--him.

The pitiful pageant that follows soon; The music hall and the cheap saloon. The sad procession, the coffee stall. The river that ends it all.

TH’ COORTIN’

’Tis just about a wik ago, Or mebbe two, or theresabout, As I axed Kate why ur an’ Joe Was seed together waalking out; Whenas, fur nigh upon a year, ’Twur I as had been coortin’ ur.

“Why, laws-a-mussey, Bill,” ur sez, “Fur certain sure ye must allow Us two caan’t alluz spend our days The same as us be doin’ now. Ye’d better wed wi’ one ye doan’t Than waalk wi’ one ye do, as woan’t.”

I cudden zackly understand What ’twur as she was drivin’ at, Until I cotched ur by the hand And took a peep ’erneath ur hat. Wur what I see surprised I so, I gi’ed ur kiss, an’ whispered low: “Ye’d better wed the feller who Has alluz bin in luv wi’ you.” And that’s just what ur means to do.

AGREEMENT

Oyez! Oyez! Behold we state The rules of this our Syndicate.

Let it be granted first of all, That you are not so young and small As foolish people would suppose, From your long hair and shorter clothes.

Item the second, please agree To just the opposite in me. For would the wisest man alive Imagine I was twenty-five?

This done, folk cannot make a fuss, Or say that we’re preposterous. For you become, as all may see, A chaperone in charge of me.

Thirdly, this reservation’s made, The Syndicate’s too old and staid To ride (though you’ll object no doubt) In swinging boat and roundabout.

Fourthly, the world’s a dear old place, So always keep a smiling face. It suits you best, and as to that, So does pink chiffon in your hat.

Lastly, lest envious folk combine To wreck your Syndicate, and mine, My autograph is here affixed, Written in blood and water mixed.

_P.S._ It may not look like blood to you But recollect my blood is blue.

THE BURYIN’

The mists be on the river bed, The roses all be gone; And here be I, about to die, Wi’ harvest coming on. Dear Lord, I’ve trapsed some weary miles, I’ll be main glad to rest awhiles.

The folk’ll soon be in the fields, A-getting in the grain. For most of those, the time I’ve chose Be awkerd in the main. Though not so bad, ’tis sure, for they As be a-working by the day.

September be a better month For all the carter men; And when I die don’t signify, So let I bide till then. The wagons’ll be standing by, And there’ll be time to bury I.

A ZONG TO ZING-OH!

When the zun beyond the Beacon be a-zettin’ And everything’s as quiet as can be, By the gate to varmur’s meddy, That old gate zo vurm and zteddy, You be pretty zure uv vindin’ Jim and me.

When the mists along the valley be uprisin’ And the nightingale’s a-zingin’ in the tree; When the peewits be a-zquawkin’ Uz don’t waste no time a-talkin’ Time’s a vasty zight too short sez Jim an’ me

With the honeyzuckle zcent zo thick as treacle, And the chestnut blossoms droppin’ onto we; As us zets zo close together, Why zometimes I wonders whether Jim ull zet that close in Paradise to me.

When the clocks down in the village be a-strikin’ And darkness comes a-creepin’ up the lea, Then, though us be zeldom ready, Us must leave old varmur’s meddy, Or the volk ull all be wonderin’ where us be.

SONG

Long ago, (How long ago I really don’t know;) A kingfisher lived in a valley of green, The finest kingfisher that ever was seen-- In that little green valley I know.

Silent and slow All in a row, buttercups grow. One day the kingfisher selected his queen, And the bride wore a costume of purple and green ’Neath the willows that stand in a row.

Heigho! (As the years go, still the streams flow) The whole of this summer they haven’t been seen, And a wood-pecker reigns in that valley serene. Where they’ve gone to I really don’t know.

PHILOSOPHY

When I was young, in days gone by, I smoked Wild Woodbines on the sly. They made me ill, but what of that? ’Twas nothing much to grumble at; For, don’t you see?-- If I had shirked that pallid brow I couldn’t smoke Havanas now.

The only girl I ever kissed, Both found and left an optimist. She jilted me, but even that Was nothing much to grumble at; For, don’t you see?-- I’ve such a cozy little den, And know a lot of married men.

And now, although I’m getting stout, And though my hair is falling out, And people call me old and fat, There’s nothing much to grumble at; For, don’t you see?-- Although I am a perfect fright, I don’t look bad by candle light.

FORFEITS

You fail to catch the trencher spun And, later, when the game is done, The lady who collects the fees Demands a forfeit, if you please. You find a penny, grimed and black, And hope that you may get it back.

You sit in speechless misery, And wonder what your fate will be, Until, within that giggling ring, You have to claim the wretched thing; Then sally forth upon your quest, To kiss the one you love the best.

You don’t appreciate the fun, But curb a wild desire to run; Then seek a matron staid and stout, And drag the willing victim out; Because, of course, it wouldn’t do To kiss the girl you wanted to.

THE REVIVAL

Take me away, for I will see no more; It was but yesterday I saw the play before, The day on which my dear and I were wed-- Your mother, child--your mother who is dead. Why did you bring me here to see a play Which she and I saw only yesterday?

A PATRON OF THE ARTS

I knew a lady once I did, Who lived away at Pontypridd; She liked my verses very much, And said I had the lyric touch.

She used to ask me round to lunch, And say I ought to edit “Punch,” As Owen S. and Francis B., Were amateurs compared to me.

Last week I met her in a batch Of lunatics at Colney Hatch, And heard she always spoke of me As far surpassing Calverley.

CRITICISM

A simple poet on a time, Resolved to write a simple rhyme. His verse was pleasing to the ear; He also made his meaning clear.

The critics glanced at it, and said Such rubbish they had never read. A point on which they did agree, With touching unanimity.

The simple poet took his lay, And turned it round the other way. Shuffled the sentences about, And took a dozen commas out.

The critics took the volume, and Read, marked--and failed to understand. Then fell upon their stomachs flat, This prodigy to marvel at.

TREASON AND PLOT

When I am very, very rich, And very famous, too, I’ll take a cab to Regent’s Park, And walk into the Zoo With quite a consequential air, For I shall be the richest there.

And in a lordly way I’ll take A shilling from my purse, And buy the biggest rattle-snake To carry home to Nurse, And, as she’s very short of breath, Perhaps ’twill frighten her to death.

THE POPPY AND THE POET

Like poppies in the golden corn, The poet’s race is run; Each strives alike to gain the ear; The poppy from the sun Borrows more radiance than gold-- A poet’s much the same, I’m told.

But still these differences appear When everything is said; The poet’s leaves, I greatly fear, Are very seldom read. Poppies but borrow from the sun-- A poet will from anyone.

EL DORADO

He sought it through the golden isles Of Once Upon a Time. In fabled fields of Might Have Been He heard its distant chime. He saw, mid Dreamland’s mystic glades, Its turrets from afar; And found it in the valley, where The deepest shadows are.