The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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THE GIPSEYS CAMP |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
119
THE GIPSEYS CAMP
How oft on Sundays when Id time to trampMy rambles led me to a gipseys camp
Where the real effegies of midnight hags
Wi tawney smoaked flesh & tatterd rags
Uncooth brimd hat & weather beaten cloak
Neath the wild shelter of a notty oak
Along the greensward uniformly pricks
Her pliant bending hazels arching sticks
While round topt bush or briar entangld hedge
Where neath broad flag le[a]ves spring or ramping sedge
Keep off the bothering bustle of the wind
& give the best retreat they hope to find
How oft Ive bent me oer their fire & smoak
To hear their gibberish tale so quaintly spoke
While the old sybil forcd her boding clack
Twin imps the mean while bawling at her back
Oft on my hand her magic coins bin struck
& hoping chink she talkd of morts of luck
120
Mingld wi fears to drop the fortunes fee
I never faild to gain the honours sought
& Lord & Squire was purchasd wi a groat
But as mans unbelieving taste came round
She furious stampt her shooless foot aground
Wipd by her sut black hair wi clenching fist
While thro her yellow teeth the spittle hist
Swearing by all her lacky powers of fate
That like as foot boys on her actions wait
That fortunes scale shoud to my sorrow turn
& I one day the rash neglect shoud mourn
That good to bad shoud change & I shoud be
Lost to this world & all eternity
That poor as Job I shoud remain unblest
Alas for fourpence how my dye is cast
Of neer a hurded farding be possest
& when alls done be shovd to hell at last
| The early poems of John Clare | |