The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood Edited, with notes by Walter Jerrold |
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JOHN JONES A PATHETIC BALLAD |
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 | The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood |  |
JOHN JONES A PATHETIC BALLAD
‘I saw the iron enter into his soul.’
Sterne.
John Jones he was a builder's clerk,
On ninety pounds a year,
Before his head was engine-turn'd
To be an engineer!
On ninety pounds a year,
Before his head was engine-turn'd
To be an engineer!
For, finding that the iron roads
Were quite the public tale,
Like Robin Redbreast, all his heart
Was set upon a rail.
Were quite the public tale,
Like Robin Redbreast, all his heart
Was set upon a rail.
But oh! his schemes all ended ill,
As schemes must come to nought
With men who try to make short cuts
When cut with something short.
As schemes must come to nought
With men who try to make short cuts
When cut with something short.
His altitudes he did not take
Like any other elf;
But first a spirit-level took
That levell'd him himself.
Like any other elf;
But first a spirit-level took
That levell'd him himself.
Then getting up, from left to right
So many tacks he made,
The ground he meant to go upon
Got very well survey'd.
So many tacks he made,
The ground he meant to go upon
Got very well survey'd.
How crows may fly he did not care
A single fig to know;—
He wish'd to make an iron road,
And not an iron crow:
A single fig to know;—
He wish'd to make an iron road,
And not an iron crow:
So, going to the Rose and Crown
To cut his studies short,
The nearest way from pint to pint,
He found was through a quart.
To cut his studies short,
The nearest way from pint to pint,
He found was through a quart.
According to this rule he plann'd
His railway o'er a cup;
But when he came to lay it down,
No soul would take it up!
His railway o'er a cup;
But when he came to lay it down,
No soul would take it up!
Alas! not his the wily arts
Of men as shrewd as rats,
Who out of one sole level make
A precious lot of flats!
Of men as shrewd as rats,
Who out of one sole level make
A precious lot of flats!
In vain from Z to crooked S
His devious line he show'd;
Directors even seemed to wish
For some directer road.
His devious line he show'd;
Directors even seemed to wish
For some directer road.
The writers of the public press
All sneered at his design;
And penny-a-liners wouldn't give
A penny for his line!
All sneered at his design;
And penny-a-liners wouldn't give
A penny for his line!
Yet still he urged his darling scheme
In spite of all the fates;
Until at last his zigzag ways
Quite brought him into straits.
In spite of all the fates;
Until at last his zigzag ways
Quite brought him into straits.
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His money gone, of course he sank
In debt from day to day—
His way would not pay him, and so
He could not pay his way.
In debt from day to day—
His way would not pay him, and so
He could not pay his way.
Said he, ‘All parties run me down,—
How bitter is my cup!
My landlord is the only man
That ever runs me up!
How bitter is my cup!
My landlord is the only man
That ever runs me up!
‘And he begins to talk of scores,
And will not draw a cork’;—
And then he rail'd at Fortune, since
He could not rail at York!
And will not draw a cork’;—
And then he rail'd at Fortune, since
He could not rail at York!
The morrow, in a fatal noose
They found him, hanging fast;
This sentence scribbled on the wall,—
‘I've got my line at last!’
They found him, hanging fast;
This sentence scribbled on the wall,—
‘I've got my line at last!’
Twelve men upon the body sate,
And thus, on oath, did say,
‘We find he got his gruel 'cause
He couldn't have his way!’
And thus, on oath, did say,
‘We find he got his gruel 'cause
He couldn't have his way!’
| The complete poetical works of Thomas Hood | |