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

& god be wi ye neighbour sherry
Or wither in a coaching wherry
Or horse or foot the muse right merry
Greets ye in ryhme
To say yer welcome here to ferry
At any time

& tho my good old friend & croney
Ye know my pockets scant o' money
& want ye knows thin facd & boney
But if ye start
Ill welcome ye on coach or poney
Wi hand & heart

My last bank bill Ill soon be cashing
For bread & cheese & barley washing
While straw thats stood the la'brers thrashing
Yer nag picks oer
Twill keep him just an hour from bashing
If nothing more

& as ye drive in town together
Ye neednt stan' no clownish blether
To ask gawk fools this that & tother
To find me out
Hold to the cross that points the weather
Then right about

& there yell find your ryhme importer
Not like as lunons learned quarter
But stewd mong fools of lowest order
In cottage nook
That sees much ryhme in bricks & mortar
As in a book

& ye need dread no vile accroaches
When ye yer servants door aproaches
Nor think ye smell some evil broaches
Like lunon scouts
Tho ninneys stare at gilded coaches
Theyre harmless louts

& list their tales of ploughs & waggons
& hear their horse blood boasts & braggings
& join wi them their neighbours wragging[s]
& swear & lie
& then yell suit these rude cag maggings
As well as I

& shoud ye drive here helter skelter
Ill 'vide yr nag tight stabling shelter

& shoud ye in a carriage kelter
Theres boys may be
To hold yer horse heads bridle helter
For penny fee

&'s no false brags shall spoil yr funning
Ive no new ale mind fit for tunning
Nor barrels wi a remnant running
But kaken croney
A sign nigh hand his face is sunning
& Ive got money

& Ive a mother good old cre'tur'
Will serve for cook instead o' better
Nick nacks & things her skill may fetter
Thats made by books
But Ill engage wi flower & water
Shes queen o' cooks

Theres none turns pancakes trig & slighter
Theres none makes barley dumplings lighter
Three towns about no neighbours tighter
That Ill be bound
I fear yr humble friend invitor
Wornt so befound

I hate 'bout clo'hs & pride to crack
But yell excuse my bumptious clack
Else 'paring now wi times while back
In troubles dire
Youd say wi neighbours humble Jack
Had turnd Esquire

Im none of those that wants consceal
She once hung horrid at my heel
& tetherd me at barn or field—
God knows poor folks
One neednt wonder why they steal
When want pr[o]vokes

But sin' old fortune hearty chap
Thought brother like wi smiles to clap
Fine feathers in my ryhming cap
Friends not a few
Cold comforts fled wi wants mishap
So lets pursue

Let ye come helps'on' when ye will come
Mind ye old crone my homes yer welcome
As any friend that ever shall come
To bless my door
As far as middle means can call home
I can no more

Postscript

My brains god knows as lind wi leather
Cant think o' things an hour together
Else ere Id closd my ryhming blether
I meant ye see
To friends who smiles my summer weather
Yed 'member me

Theres Admiral R[adstock] death take him never
& lords unknown fate leave for ever
Consceit thou mayst plant thy beaver
Tip top thy crown
To think that Lords have thought thee cleaver
& praisd a clown

Theres T[aylo]r muses good old chuckey
That like a carful hen or duckey
Brought off her brood that long unlucky
Unhatchd had lain
& where bad words their plumes did muckey
Washt out the stain

& theres old scotias darling piper
Where critisism ruff hewd griper

Slinks away her hissing viper
Sun burnt wi's fame
No helcon waterd blossom riper
—There gi' my name

Nor am I shamd to ownt before ye
Ere sin her prince o ryhming glory
Ga' me his notice thro yer story
That muse so proud
Turns up her nose from pastures moorey
& snuffs the clouds

& heres her love to all together
Ye who have loosd poor muse from tether
& while this worlds ball sticks the gether
My brave old croney
& lifes bleachd bodies stans the weather
Yours signeth Johnney