The early poems of John Clare 1804-1822: General editor Eric Robinson: Edited by Eric Robinson and David Powell: Associate editor Margaret Grainger |
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MY HAT |
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 | The early poems of John Clare |  |
MY HAT
Some stretch their necks & crow for fame
& sing high flights to win a name
& lack-a-day oft miss their game
I well see that
For me alas Ive no such aim
To sing my hat
& sing high flights to win a name
& lack-a-day oft miss their game
I well see that
For me alas Ive no such aim
To sing my hat
512
The reader he may wink his fiz
& laugh tills a most fit to p*ss
To think what means the fool by this
Rare fun enough
& Critics they may grin & hiss
& call it stuff
& laugh tills a most fit to p*ss
To think what means the fool by this
Rare fun enough
& Critics they may grin & hiss
& call it stuff
I care not what they say or do
An honest frends worth looking too
(Known now adays god knows to few)
My hats my all
Ill gi the poor old boy his due
He stood his stall
An honest frends worth looking too
(Known now adays god knows to few)
My hats my all
Ill gi the poor old boy his due
He stood his stall
3 years (I neer can make him 'mends)
Thro hardships that such time attends
Sunshine & shower he stood his ends
Head happy down
Till time that parts the best of friends
Tore out his crown
Thro hardships that such time attends
Sunshine & shower he stood his ends
Head happy down
Till time that parts the best of friends
Tore out his crown
L---d g*d what days weve had to gether
What checkerd times what sorts o weather
What heaps & heaps o ‘rhyming blether’
Hes heard me sing
To day a beggar at wants tether
The next a king
What checkerd times what sorts o weather
What heaps & heaps o ‘rhyming blether’
Hes heard me sing
To day a beggar at wants tether
The next a king
513
New from the shop it minds me near
How we on Sundays ust appear
Mong blushing bitches ever dear
God reads my heart
I think I cant help shed a tear
That we must part
How we on Sundays ust appear
Mong blushing bitches ever dear
God reads my heart
I think I cant help shed a tear
That we must part
But surley time for nought will stay
He wittles every charm away
My sen his summons must obey
As well as my hat
Neighbours keep dropping day by day
To minds o that
He wittles every charm away
My sen his summons must obey
As well as my hat
Neighbours keep dropping day by day
To minds o that
| The early poems of John Clare | |