The later poems of John Clare 1837-1864 ... General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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JOHN THE CARPENTER |
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 | The later poems of John Clare |  |
1044
JOHN THE CARPENTER
I know him not my mither dear
Youre always in his way
But when you're gone he's always here
Aye thretty times a day
He's always asking ‘Whats o Clock?’
And what we aynt to lend
Hes some strange loon a come to mock
If not my mothers friend
Youre always in his way
But when you're gone he's always here
Aye thretty times a day
He's always asking ‘Whats o Clock?’
And what we aynt to lend
Hes some strange loon a come to mock
If not my mothers friend
Guess not so rude uncouthly chield
He's maybe led astray
Wi thy white bosom let me feel't
If that will aught betray
She saw her wark was slowly done
No thread spun frae the rock
She own'd blood red the tell tale sun
Saw kisses near the clock
He's maybe led astray
Wi thy white bosom let me feel't
If that will aught betray
She saw her wark was slowly done
No thread spun frae the rock
She own'd blood red the tell tale sun
Saw kisses near the clock
And when he kissed me aince mither
He wanted line and rule
And ask'd when kissing twice mither
What bairns I put to school
He gave me just half minute time
For thretty kisses more
I lov'd him mother for that crime
And saw him to the door
He wanted line and rule
And ask'd when kissing twice mither
What bairns I put to school
He gave me just half minute time
For thretty kisses more
I lov'd him mother for that crime
And saw him to the door
While roses wear anither hue
White lilies tell the truth
What makes ye turn sae pale my sue
About this stranger youth
What makes me turn sae pale mither
Cause truth I dare no tell
Although you cross my breast mither
I maun keep that mysell
White lilies tell the truth
What makes ye turn sae pale my sue
About this stranger youth
1045
Cause truth I dare no tell
Although you cross my breast mither
I maun keep that mysell
You ca him John the carpenter
And so think ither foulk
What that Priest doth at church aver
I[s] something past a joke
Mither its quite anither thing
That shortly will be seen
Our carpenters the lawful King
And I'm his scottish Queen
And so think ither foulk
What that Priest doth at church aver
I[s] something past a joke
Mither its quite anither thing
That shortly will be seen
Our carpenters the lawful King
And I'm his scottish Queen
| The later poems of John Clare | |