The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | ||
469
THE BEGGARS.
“Hark! Hark! the dogs do bark!”
The great yellow Schlank with a cold in her throat,
The fox-like Spitz with a piercing note,
Johnny M'Cabe's little black-and-tan,
And the mangy cur of the rag-cart man;
Towser and Carlo and Ponto and Wince,
Whisker and Huon, and Brant and Prince,
Bull and Bouncer and Rollo and Spring,
Snap and Fido and Dash and Wing,
Pompey and Growler and Trusty and Carl,
Bruiser and Bingo and Dandy and Snarl;
Lap-dogs, covered with hair like flax;
China dogs, with no hair to their backs;
Dogs that have come from the stormy shore
Of rocky and ice-bound Labrador;
Collies, expert the flock to guard;
Hairy fellows from Saint Bernard;
Starveling curs that back lanes haunt;
Coach-dogs spotted, and wolf-dogs gaunt;
Greyhounds, pointers, setters, terriers,
Bulldogs, turnspits, spaniels, harriers,
Mastiffs, boarhounds, Eskemo,
Poodles, mongrels, beefhounds low;
Every dog of every kind,
Of every temper and every mind,
All engaged in the general row—
Snap, yelp, growl, ki-yi, bow-wow!
The fox-like Spitz with a piercing note,
Johnny M'Cabe's little black-and-tan,
And the mangy cur of the rag-cart man;
Towser and Carlo and Ponto and Wince,
Whisker and Huon, and Brant and Prince,
Bull and Bouncer and Rollo and Spring,
Snap and Fido and Dash and Wing,
Pompey and Growler and Trusty and Carl,
Bruiser and Bingo and Dandy and Snarl;
Lap-dogs, covered with hair like flax;
China dogs, with no hair to their backs;
Dogs that have come from the stormy shore
Of rocky and ice-bound Labrador;
Collies, expert the flock to guard;
Hairy fellows from Saint Bernard;
Starveling curs that back lanes haunt;
Coach-dogs spotted, and wolf-dogs gaunt;
Greyhounds, pointers, setters, terriers,
Bulldogs, turnspits, spaniels, harriers,
Mastiffs, boarhounds, Eskemo,
Poodles, mongrels, beefhounds low;
Every dog of every kind,
Of every temper and every mind,
All engaged in the general row—
Snap, yelp, growl, ki-yi, bow-wow!
“The beggars have come to town—”
Some are low and some are high;
Some are blind in either eye;
Some are lame and some are sore;
Some just crawl from door to door;
Some on crutches and some with canes;
Some from alleys and some from lanes;
Some approach you with a whine;
Some with a testimonial line;
Some in a manner to make you shiver—
The style of a foot-pad—“Stand and deliver!”
Some with tales of suffering hoax you;
Some with subtle flattery coax you;
Some the iciest of mummers;
Some are warm as eighteen summers;
Some are sober; some are bummers;
Some with mute solicitation,
Some with loud vociferation,
Seek for your commiseration;
Some with well-feigned hesitation,
For your dole make application;
Some present their hats to hold
Your benefactions manifold;
And beg for money or beg for fame,
Beg for offices, beg for name,
Beg for currency, grub to purchase,
Beg for checks, to build up churches,
Beg for attention to their capers,
Beg for a puff in the morning papers,
Beg for a show for buccaneering,
Beg for a chance for patient hearing,
Beg for anything, everything, nothing,
From a million in gold to cast-off clothing,
For a chew of tobacco, a glass of gin,
A trotting horse and a diamond pin,
A country farm and a city garden;
And now and then they beg—your pardon.
Some are blind in either eye;
470
Some just crawl from door to door;
Some on crutches and some with canes;
Some from alleys and some from lanes;
Some approach you with a whine;
Some with a testimonial line;
Some in a manner to make you shiver—
The style of a foot-pad—“Stand and deliver!”
Some with tales of suffering hoax you;
Some with subtle flattery coax you;
Some the iciest of mummers;
Some are warm as eighteen summers;
Some are sober; some are bummers;
Some with mute solicitation,
Some with loud vociferation,
Seek for your commiseration;
Some with well-feigned hesitation,
For your dole make application;
Some present their hats to hold
Your benefactions manifold;
And beg for money or beg for fame,
Beg for offices, beg for name,
Beg for currency, grub to purchase,
Beg for checks, to build up churches,
Beg for attention to their capers,
Beg for a puff in the morning papers,
Beg for a show for buccaneering,
Beg for a chance for patient hearing,
Beg for anything, everything, nothing,
From a million in gold to cast-off clothing,
For a chew of tobacco, a glass of gin,
A trotting horse and a diamond pin,
A country farm and a city garden;
And now and then they beg—your pardon.
“Some in rags, and some in tags,”
471
Some with darns and some with patches,
Socks not mates, and gloves not matches;
Boots whose leather redly shows out,
Brogans ripped, and shoes with toes out,
Hats with broad brims, hats with small rims,
Hats again with not-at-all rims,
High hats, flat hats, hats with low crowns,
Hats with bell-crowns, hats with no crowns;
Coats as varied as that of Joseph,
Coats whose color no one knows of;
Coats with swallow-tails, coats with bob-tails,
Coats with skew-tails, coats with lob-tails,
Easy coats, greasy coats, great-coats, show-coats,
Jackets, warmuses, then again, no coats;
Trowsers narrow and trowsers wide,
Darned and patched and pinned and tied,
Trowsers thrown on rather than put on,
With a string for brace and a skewer for button;
Shirts with the dirt of a twelvemonth worn in,
But mostly the shirt the beggar was born in;
Some close-capped and others with head bare;
Ragged and rent and worn and thread-bare,
And looking as though they had joined to fill
A contract for stock with a paper-mill.
Socks not mates, and gloves not matches;
Boots whose leather redly shows out,
Brogans ripped, and shoes with toes out,
Hats with broad brims, hats with small rims,
Hats again with not-at-all rims,
High hats, flat hats, hats with low crowns,
Hats with bell-crowns, hats with no crowns;
Coats as varied as that of Joseph,
Coats whose color no one knows of;
Coats with swallow-tails, coats with bob-tails,
Coats with skew-tails, coats with lob-tails,
Easy coats, greasy coats, great-coats, show-coats,
Jackets, warmuses, then again, no coats;
Trowsers narrow and trowsers wide,
Darned and patched and pinned and tied,
Trowsers thrown on rather than put on,
With a string for brace and a skewer for button;
Shirts with the dirt of a twelvemonth worn in,
But mostly the shirt the beggar was born in;
Some close-capped and others with head bare;
Ragged and rent and worn and thread-bare,
And looking as though they had joined to fill
A contract for stock with a paper-mill.
“And some in velvet gowns.”
Those are the fellows who beg the first,
And beg the hardest, and beg the worst:—
Brokers who beg your cash for “a margin,”
With profit at naught, and a very huge charge in;
Mining fellows with melting-pots;
Speculators in water-lots;
Smooth-faced gentlemen, high in station,
Ready to point to an “operation”;
Seedy writers who have an infernal
Project of starting a daily journal;
Politicians, who beg you to run
For place in a race that can't be won;
Lawyers ready your weal to show
In a case that speedily proves your woe;
And a host of such in the begging line
Arrayed in purple and linen fine;
All worse than the locusts born to harrow
The souls of the serfs of the mighty Pharaoh;
And so persistent in striking your purse,
And begging the cost of their plans to disburse,
That you wish, losing feeling and temper and ruth,
The tale of Aktaion to-day was a truth,
And the dogs that barked when they came to town
Would tear them in pieces, and gobble them down.
And beg the hardest, and beg the worst:—
Brokers who beg your cash for “a margin,”
With profit at naught, and a very huge charge in;
Mining fellows with melting-pots;
Speculators in water-lots;
472
Ready to point to an “operation”;
Seedy writers who have an infernal
Project of starting a daily journal;
Politicians, who beg you to run
For place in a race that can't be won;
Lawyers ready your weal to show
In a case that speedily proves your woe;
And a host of such in the begging line
Arrayed in purple and linen fine;
All worse than the locusts born to harrow
The souls of the serfs of the mighty Pharaoh;
And so persistent in striking your purse,
And begging the cost of their plans to disburse,
That you wish, losing feeling and temper and ruth,
The tale of Aktaion to-day was a truth,
And the dogs that barked when they came to town
Would tear them in pieces, and gobble them down.
The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | ||