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49
IN CHAMBERS
There now, he's coming, tramp, tramp, tramp!
Those seventy-two accursed stairs!
Certain and slow, I know the scamp,
And in a minute (if my prayers
Cannot prevent)—it's too late now—
He's at it; kicking round the scraper:
O God! And must I suffer so
To get a clammy paper?
Those seventy-two accursed stairs!
Certain and slow, I know the scamp,
And in a minute (if my prayers
Cannot prevent)—it's too late now—
He's at it; kicking round the scraper:
O God! And must I suffer so
To get a clammy paper?
Ah well, ah well! One day I know
(I've watched and waited two years now)
A lighter foot, with step less slow,
Will touch the stair, and then somehow
I shall be certain as the day
That that quick step is not to stop
Like all the rest (confound the fop!)
Down there at Jones's, just half-way.
(I've watched and waited two years now)
A lighter foot, with step less slow,
Will touch the stair, and then somehow
I shall be certain as the day
That that quick step is not to stop
Like all the rest (confound the fop!)
Down there at Jones's, just half-way.
50
‘I shall be by the fire suppose,’—
With my Chaucer in hand, as beseemeth youth,
And the smoke will be curling about my nose
As I dream, in veriest truth,
That Law is no more, and the Junior Bar
In Courts of Love all hold a brief,
And the fairest of witnesses flock from afar
To debate of the ‘Flower and the Leaf.’
With my Chaucer in hand, as beseemeth youth,
And the smoke will be curling about my nose
As I dream, in veriest truth,
That Law is no more, and the Junior Bar
In Courts of Love all hold a brief,
And the fairest of witnesses flock from afar
To debate of the ‘Flower and the Leaf.’
And then, ah then, on the wind-swept stair
Of this drear old Temple a voice will be heard!
The rush of a dress, the trill of an air,
The scent of a rose, and the note of a bird!
And then, ah then! The book will fly,
Dear grand old bard at thy grand old bust;
And I shall be there in the wink of an eye—
She's coming, you gibbering fool!—she must.
Of this drear old Temple a voice will be heard!
The rush of a dress, the trill of an air,
The scent of a rose, and the note of a bird!
And then, ah then! The book will fly,
Dear grand old bard at thy grand old bust;
And I shall be there in the wink of an eye—
She's coming, you gibbering fool!—she must.
So you needn't sit there, with your worldwise air,
And prattle Propriety out of a book.
‘No lady would sing on a public stair’?
You ass! My girl sings everywhere!
And is coming, by hook or by crook!
You grinning old reprobate! Stop your tum tum—
‘No lady’—hang ladies! Mine will not be long.
I know not her face, but I know she will come!
A flutter, a rush, a scent, and a song.
And prattle Propriety out of a book.
‘No lady would sing on a public stair’?
You ass! My girl sings everywhere!
And is coming, by hook or by crook!
51
‘No lady’—hang ladies! Mine will not be long.
I know not her face, but I know she will come!
A flutter, a rush, a scent, and a song.
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