The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
 | I. |
| II. |
 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
406
ANOTHER
[Away wi the puling of asses]
Away wi the puling of asses
Such foolishness Ise never bears
To sob & sigh over the lasses
As children wine over their prayers
No Gi' me the boy wi a true soul
That loves women next to good ale
Wi out stoop[ing] to kissing their shoe soal
Or dye if addresses shoud fail
Such foolishness Ise never bears
To sob & sigh over the lasses
As children wine over their prayers
No Gi' me the boy wi a true soul
That loves women next to good ale
Wi out stoop[ing] to kissing their shoe soal
Or dye if addresses shoud fail
Ding we wool hearts of a strap black
The Wimsies of woman to please
While stout hearted sons of the knapsack
Stick up for such trifles as these
One boy with his red coat & feather
Does more then a dozen of clowns
He crazes whole hamlets together
& wives hardly keep within bounds
The Wimsies of woman to please
While stout hearted sons of the knapsack
Stick up for such trifles as these
One boy with his red coat & feather
Does more then a dozen of clowns
He crazes whole hamlets together
& wives hardly keep within bounds
When I wore my lace & a red coat
I needed no sweethearts—not I
A look of ones eye tho I sed nought
Woud keep me in constant supply
& at e[v]rey fair we was stopping
Our dresses so bumpsious & gay
Set scores a clowns noses adropping
By tempting their honeys away
I needed no sweethearts—not I
A look of ones eye tho I sed nought
Woud keep me in constant supply
& at e[v]rey fair we was stopping
Our dresses so bumpsious & gay
Set scores a clowns noses adropping
By tempting their honeys away
& now Im returnd from the rackets
Of Soldiers rare frolics & fun
& lost all the power of gilt jackets
By which many maids have bin won
Ill yield to my loss like a true soul
& prize women next to good ale
But neer stoop to kissing their shoe soal
Nor die now adresses does fail
Of Soldiers rare frolics & fun
& lost all the power of gilt jackets
By which many maids have bin won
407
& prize women next to good ale
But neer stoop to kissing their shoe soal
Nor die now adresses does fail
| The early poems of John Clare | |