The early poems of John Clare :: :: University of Virginia Library

How aggravating 't'is to hear
A Four-foot-nothing o'er his beer
Crack and brag what he can do
And what he has done years ago
How when he was but boyish quite
(And not much better now in hight)
Could shoulder sacks of corn—alone
Run like a Top with massy stone
Top every gate he came but nigh
And jump the locks where none durst try
In climbing trees he'd yield to none
Beat every one to walk or run
Pelt o'er the steeple twice as high
As any one he'd testify
While chocking hole & marble ring
Always own'd him for their king
To boxing too he could aspire
And minded not the best Goliah
At wrestling:—he'd such notions in it
To wang their heels up in a minnute
Howe'er in short this monstrous man
Pretends to king of every clan
So strong to bear so lythe to run
So vers'd in jokes for sport and fun
So skill'd so powerful in his youth
So fond of every thing—but truth!
For this the boaster does abhor
Yet thinks hes nought to answer for

133

When he's been cracking swearing lying
He never fears the least of dying
He goes to church as others do
And thinks him self as righteous too
—But his religion! what of that?
'T'is not the thing I pointed at
His swaggering boasts and cracking stuff
Is all I mean (and thats enough)
Yes quite enough (in terms hydrolic)
To kill his hearers with the cholic
And what is worse this silly elf
Will let none chatter but himself
—To such concieted sons of pride
I have a Fable near allie'd
Which shows their easy over match'd
And sometimes in a tether catch'd

An Eagle once both stout and able
(No matter where—tis but a fable)
Struck at a little playful lamb
While sporting near its frighted dam
Pounc'd it and took it all together
Easier than linnets do a feather
A crow hard by from neighbouring wood
Who near the scene of action stood
Saw all:—But never blest her eyes
No[r] deem'd it matter of supprise
‘Cant I’ she cries ‘as well [as] yon
‘Fine poltry Eagle just now gone
‘Strike at a lamb and bear't away?
‘Yes yes I can and will to day
‘Altho her tallons are more long
‘Mine are as sharp if not so strong
‘And tho my bodys not all out
‘So big so frightful and so stout
‘Yet that in pouncing has no part
‘I know I've got a bolder heart!’

134

So saying from the tree she springs
And in a Lamb her tallons flings
But ah poor crow she soon found out
'T'was harder than she talk'd about
Soon she began to peck and pull
To free her tallons from the wool
But alls no use she's tangled still
In vain the tallons wings or bill
The more she tries to get unbound
The more the nasty wool laps round
Till quite worn out:—she waits to die
And murmurs this reproving sigh
‘Had I ne'er like a boasting elf
‘With such vain exploits fuss'd my self
‘I ne'er had lit of this mishap
‘Nor ventur'd headlong in a trap
‘Oh could I but enjoy once more
‘That Liberty I had before
‘I'd never dream nor think I saw
‘A tallon on my silly claw!’
But 'mid this trouble so severe
A shepherd who was listning near
H[e]ard the sad cause of her mishap
And took her from her wooly trap
But not for Liberty? no never!
This griev'd poor crowey worse than ever
He clipt her wing and took her home
To make some sport for little tom
Who soon began with eager brawl
‘These dont destroy the lambs an' all?
‘No certainly howe'er put to't
‘I think such mortals could'n't do't!’
‘Child’ cries the shepherd ‘you cant tell
‘How high concieted minds will swell
‘—'T'is no great while—if I can guess
‘About a couple hours or less
‘Since that concieted silly beagle
‘Fancy'd herself to be an eagle

135

‘But now I think the lambkins hide
‘Has dampt a little of her pride
‘And surley too she's learnt to know
‘Her name was nothing but a Crow!’