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|
AN ELF SWASHBUCKLER |
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|
 | The poems of Madison Cawein |  |
147
AN ELF SWASHBUCKLER
Ho, my bullies, lift a tune
To Queen Mab, and, come, make merry,
By a mushroom in the moon,
White as bud of berry!
To Queen Mab, and, come, make merry,
By a mushroom in the moon,
White as bud of berry!
Gentlemen, come! take your grog!
Each one in his cap and mantlet:
Who refuses is a dog!—
He must lift my gantlet!
Each one in his cap and mantlet:
Who refuses is a dog!—
He must lift my gantlet!
Look! my gaberdine how brave!
And my tunic, ouphen yellow!
One a bat's-wing lately gave,
And a frog its fellow.
And my tunic, ouphen yellow!
One a bat's-wing lately gave,
And a frog its fellow.
And a moth's-head grew this fine
Feather of my beetle-bonnet;
See, my gnat-sting dagger's shine
Hath its blood still on it.
Feather of my beetle-bonnet;
See, my gnat-sting dagger's shine
Hath its blood still on it.
148
Faith! this ring I wear, I swear,
'Twas Queen Mab who gave it: studded,
As you see, with rubies rare—
Eyes of spiders blooded.
'Twas Queen Mab who gave it: studded,
As you see, with rubies rare—
Eyes of spiders blooded.
Doubt me, sirs, and by my blade!—
Sirrahs, a good stabbing hanger!
From a hornet's stinger made!—
You may dread my anger!
Sirrahs, a good stabbing hanger!
From a hornet's stinger made!—
You may dread my anger!
Fill the lichen pottles up,
Honey pressed from hearts of roses:
Cheek by jowl, up with each cup,
Till we hide our noses.
Honey pressed from hearts of roses:
Cheek by jowl, up with each cup,
Till we hide our noses.
Good, sirs!—Marry!—'Twas the cock!—
Hey, away! the moon's lost fire!—
Ho! the cock! our dial and clock—
Hide beneath this brier!
Hey, away! the moon's lost fire!—
Ho! the cock! our dial and clock—
Hide beneath this brier!
| The poems of Madison Cawein | |