You know the Line? You don't, though. You write to the Board, and tell Your father's death has upset you an' you're goin' to cruise for a spell, An' you'd like the Mary Gloster-I've held her ready for this They'll put her in working order and you'll take her out as she is. Yes, it was money idle when I patched her and put her aside. (Thank God, I can pay for my fancies!)-the boat where your mother died, By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank, We dropped her-I think I told you-and I pricked it off where she sank ['Tiny she looked on the grating-that oily, treacly sea-] 'Hundred and eighteen East, remember, and South just three. Easy bearings to carry-three South-three to the dot; But I gave M'Andrew a copy in case of dying—or not. And so you'll write to M'Andrew, he's Chief of the Maori Line; They'll give him leave, if you ask 'em and say it's business o' mine. I built three boats for the Maoris, an' very well pleased they were, An' I've known Mac since the Fifties, and Mac knew me-and her. After the first stroke warned me I sent him the money to keep Against the time you'd claim it, committin' your dad to the deep; THE MARY GLOSTER For you are the son o' my body, and Mac was my oldest friend, I've never asked 'im to dinner, but he'll see it out to the end. Stiff-necked Glasgow beggar, I've heard he's prayed for my soul, But he couldn't lie if you paid him, and he'd starve before he stole! He'll take the Mary in ballast-you'll find her a lively ship; And you'll take Sir Anthony Gloster, that goes on 'is wedding-trip, Lashed in our old deck-cabin with all three port-holes wide, The kick o' the screw beneath him and the round blue seas outside! Sir Anthony Gloster's carriage-our 'ouse-flag flyin' freeTen thousand men on the pay-roll and forty freighters at sea! He made himself and a million, but this world is a fleetin' show, And he'll go to the wife of 'is bosom the same as he ought to go By the heel of the Paternosters-there isn't a chance to mistake And Mac'll pay you the money as soon as the bubbles break! Five thousand for six weeks' cruising, the stanchest freighter afloat, And Mac he'll give you your bonus the minute I'm out o' the boat! He'll take you round to Macassar, and you'll come back alone; He knows what I want o' the Mary. what I please with my own. Your mother 'ud call it wasteful, but I've seven-andthirty more; I'll come in my private carriage and bid it wait at the door. For my son 'e was never a credit: 'e muddled with books and art, And 'e lived on Sir Anthony's money and 'e broke Sir Anthony's heart. There isn't even a grandchild, and the Gloster family's done The only one you left me, O mother, the only one! Harrer and Trinity College-me slavin' early an' lateAn' he thinks I'm dying crazy, and you're in Macassar Strait! Flesh o' my flesh, my dearie, for ever an' ever amen, That first stroke come for a warning; I ought to ha' gone to you then. But-cheap repairs for a cheap 'un-the doctors said I'd do: Mary, why didn't you warn me? I've allus heeded to you, Excep'-I know-about women; but you are a spirit now; An', wife, they was only women, and I was a man. That's how. An' a man 'e must go with a woman, as you could not understand; But I never talked 'em secrets. I paid 'em out o' hand. Thank Gawd, I can pay for my fancies! Now what's five thousand to me, For a berth off the Paternosters in the haven where I would be? I believe in the Resurrection, if I read my Bible plain, But I wouldn't trust 'em at Wokin'; we're safer at sea again. THE MARY GLOSTER For the heart it shall go with the treasure-go down to the sea in ships. I'm sick of the hired women-I'll kiss my girl on her lips! I'll be content with my fountain, I'll drink from my own well, And the wife of my youth shall charm me-an' the rest can go to Hell! (Dickie, he will, that's certain.) I'll lie in our standin'bed, An' Mac 'll take her in ballast-an' she trims best by the Down by the head an' sinkin', her fires are drawn and cold, And the water's splashin' hollow on the skin of the empty hold Churning an' choking and chuckling, quiet and scummy and dark Full to her lower hatches and risin' steady. Hark! from stem to stern. She's flooded S SESTINA OF THE TRAMP-ROYAL (1896) PEAKIN' in general, I 'ave tried 'em all, The 'appy roads that take you o'er the world. For such as cannot use one bed too long, But must get 'ence, the same as I 'ave done, What do it matter where or 'ow we die, In cash or credit-no, it aren't no good; But drew your tucker some 'ow from the world, But, Gawd, what things are they I 'aven't done? |